


Alpenglow

by ClumsyChicken



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Awkwardness, Bonding, Dismemberment, Drowning, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Bonding, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, Pining, Present Tense, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded on an unknown planet, Jedi Knight Anders must survive alongside his dangerous Sith target, Samuel Hawke. Tasked with Hawke's capture, Anders must find a way get off the planet and perhaps get to know Hawke in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With another swift kick, the pod door pops off like a bottle cap. Fresh air spills into the pod, cooling the beads of sweat on my face. Clutching my hefty shoulder bag, I crawl out of the escape capsule and onto the stone beneath it. The dull, grey light almost blinds me as I step out into it. A gentle breeze carries the crisp air across the jagged landscape that stretches out before me. I stand on the precipice of a cliff side, patches of forest and deep rivers twisting through the terrain many meters below me. Stomach tensing, I realize both how close the capsule was to the edge, and that the main vessel is nowhere to be seen.

   Scanning the mountainside, I notice a piece of metal a ways away from the pod. Its edges are charred and jagged. Heart rate picking up even further, I creep around the side of the pod. Immediately the scent of smoke assaults my nostrils. With a sinking feeling so powerful that I may as well drop to my knees, I spot the crash site. Flames are consuming the front side of the large, commercial ship. Bodies are scattered around it, some providing further fuel for the fire. With my heart in my throat, I take off towards the crash site.

   The closer I get, the more nausea builds in my gut. The fat in the air makes my lips sticky, and the smell of charred meat pervades the already powerful smoke. It looks like the vessel didn't take as much damage as it could have from the initial crash; most of the hull is still intact. Rather, it seems like an explosion in the front caused most of the destruction. Left in my stomach remains one glimmer of hope; I still sense life. What I actually see doesn't affirm this feeling. I approach the nearest corpse, throwing myself on the ground next to them. They're as pale as the rock beneath them, and I feel their throat. No pulse. This pattern repeats with every single body. Just as frustration begins to bubble in my chest, I catch sight of him out of the corner of my eye.

   Even from a distance, I know it's him. Whether it's the Force or pure instinct, I can't say. He's lying two dozen meters away from the crashed vessel. I clench my jaw. The single Sith warrior on board is the sole survivor, besides myself. The frustration ferments on while I approach him. Flaring my nostrils, every single bit of that irritation turns into unease when I see him move. His movements are slow, sloppy, and aimless. He might not be entirely conscious. I pick up my pace, hand hovering over the lightsaber strapped to my wide belt. As I get close enough to examine his facial features, I fully recognize him. A face only a mother could love and nobody could forget, even if they wanted to. He looks as though only a thin layer of skin was stretched across his skull. Said skin is adorned with such a myriad of scars, it leaves me wondering just how many times his face ate glass. It's just as uncanny and unsettling as it was in the files – only now, it's animated.

   With a slight gasp, I grab my lightsaber. He gently kicks as though he's trying to kick off an annoying blanket. One of his lower legs has a gash in it. It doesn't look deep from where I'm standing, but it bleeds nonetheless. I can tell his eyes are moving behind his eyelids. Slowly, he turns his head, but seems no closer to opening said eyes. Breathing through rounded lips, I try to calm myself. Then I notice the now visible blood on the side of his head, and the ice cold sensation in my stomach melts ever so slightly. Pieces of debris are scattered all around us. Any one of them could have hit him. A light feeling develops in my chest, and it feels like a cold river runs through my brain. This is oddly opportune. My mission to capture Samuel Hawke just got a head start.

   Taking a deep breath, I focus and let the Force flow through me. My fingers tingle with energy as I squat down next to him. I twirl my hand around his head, as though caressing his hair with a hand's length between us. His eyes stop moving about beneath their lids, and his muscles immediately soften.

   "By the book. Master would've been proud of that one," I mumble. My gaze lands on the lightsaber strapped to his side. I quickly unhook it and snatch it, almost expecting him to grab my wrist and prevent it at any second. It's small and looks as though it was carved out of a mountainside. The black stone material rests nicely in my hand, much to my surprise. I unzip my already packed shoulder bag, stuff it in, and zip it back up. Taking another, even deeper breath, I place one arm under his knees and the other under his back and pick him up as though I was handling a fragile bomb. He's very light, matching his short stature. Carrying him will be no trouble at all.

   I stand up with him in my arms and take a look around. There seems to be a natural decline in the cliff side just next to the crash site. No matter what, I have to find a safer place to stay; away from the fire and the stench of burnt flesh. Making my way across the site, I take one final look at the devastation. Nausea cropping up in my stomach again, I speed up and cast my gaze down onto my captive. My only hope is that the unconsciousness I bestowed upon him lasts long enough for me to find someplace safe.

 

*

 

Either the days on this planet are shorter than I'm used to, or it's a later hour than I first thought. The day's last rays from the pale local sun peek over the tree tops outside of the small cavern. A few such beams still rest on the cave floor, but it won't be long before a campfire becomes pivotal to my continued survival and vision. At least the trees outside make for plenty of firewood. The blankets from the escape pod will do nicely as well; I've already stuffed one of them underneath Hawke's head. Sitting down next to him, I try to calm my nerves and focus. However, I am not even certain if I should be healing him at all. There's no telling how an injured Sith might react to my presence, or the situation we find ourselves in. Worst case scenario, I'm be contributing to my own demise by healing him.

   The tension in my stomach extends to my entire body. Pressing my lips together, I hold my hands over the slash in his leg. I make every breath as deep as possible and close my eyes. I move my fingers along the length of the wound, never touching it. Nerves are throbbing, broadcasting pain signals along his spine. I move beyond it. Reach the root of the wound. I reach out through the pain and I mend. It always helped the process along for me to think of it as knitting. His tissue regenerates, reconnects, and grows anew like hesitant vines covering the earth. But the Force does not flow through me as usual. This tension in my body feels nothing like it does on the battlefield; it's not accompanied by its usual adrenaline-fuelled, meditation-like focus.

   Sighing sharply, I let the Force continue to run through the wound like water in one of the rivers outside for a couple of seconds. That will do for now. I move my hands to the cut on his temple, maintaining what little focus I've built. This wound is shallower, more ripe for the mending. It knits well, and I let my hands drop. The regeneration will take it from here, in some measure. Brushing back a few loose strands of hair from my forehead, I take out my hair tie and include them in my ponytail. I rub my forehead and chew on my lower lip. Without disinfectant, all I can do is bandage. At least I always carry bandages with me.

   Having bandaged his leg, I stand up and march back to what's currently my side of the small cave. It's not much, but shelter is shelter, and the surrounding cliff side is perfectly stable. With no nooks and crannies in its sides, we seem to be the only inhabitants. It's a small miracle in itself that I found it at all. As I motion to grab my shoulder bag off the ground, my blood runs cold. The sounds of fabric shifting against rock echo against the hard surfaces. With bated breath I look back at him, hand hovering over my lightsaber.

   He's drawn up his legs and placed his hands over his eyes. Conscious movements. His breathing is hard and heavy, as if struggling with every breath. I let my fingers curl around the cold hilt of my lightsaber. Sweat runs down my back anew. His breath stalls, like mine. He lowers his hands and looks straight at me. My blood pressure spikes. In a flash, he pats his side, where his lightsaber used to be. Finding nothing, he thrusts his hand towards me. I immediately brace. The force grounds me. And yet the push hits me like punch in the gut. Feet no longer touching the ground, I'm propelled into the cave side behind me. The blow to my back shoves the air out of my lungs. As I drop back down, wheezing for air, I hear his shrill voice shriek. Drawing a hard-fought breath, I look up to see him clutching his injured leg. He's down on all fours, struggling to regain his balance. The second he secures his footing on his bad leg, he sets off towards the cave opening.

   "Wait!" I yell with what little strength I can manage. Hawke manages to run into the cliff side and almost lose balance again before readjusting his course and dashing out of the cave. I pick myself up off the ground and rush after him. The instant I get outside, I see him stumbling through the undergrowth. With a hand on his head, he has to support himself against a tree trunk before moving ahead. If it wasn't for that leg, he would no doubt be much faster than me.

   "Please, wait! I'm not going to hurt you!" He looks back at me, and I instinctively unhook my lightsaber. He tenses up, and raises his hand towards me once more. This time, I'm prepared. I dart to the side, only feeling a slight thrust on my shoulder. In the mean time, he's run ahead a good distance. I sprint after him, only to see him stumble and almost trip. A stifling sting runs through my stomach. He's in no shape to be running or fighting.

   His stability improves, but over a distance of some two dozen meters I manage to catch up to him. Regardless, our chase is stopped short by a small chasm. Even from a distance, I could hear the water rippling at the bottom of it. Continuously weighing his weight on each foot, he's no doubt contemplating jumping across. As I approach, he seems to make his decision. He stays put and keeps his gaze fixed on me.

   "Listen—" I say, before noticing the sparks between his fingers. My breath stalls. I turn my lightsaber on and throw it up in front of me to parry. With a steely gaze, he jabs his hands towards me. My lightsaber's soft, light blue glow pulsates erratically when struck by the lightning bolt. I can feel its power in my grasp. I have to fight to keep my lightsaber's position stable. My heart is beating a mile a minute. I've seen what Force lightning does its victims. It's incredibly difficult to recover from, if it even leaves people alive at all. As the electric burst ends with a crackle, my arm wavers from the sudden release. Panting, my eyes readjust to the dusk lighting. Hawke is backing away from me, a slight glow still lingering on his hands. Backing up at an angle, he stops just in time to prevent his plummet into the crevice. Lowering the lightsaber to my side, I secure my footing and straighten my back as much as I can.

   "Please listen to me! I'm telling you, I don't want to hurt you," I repeat.

   "Then why are you chasing me?" he asks, voice hoarse and low. He remains hunched over, muscles tightened and fingers tense, like a cat that's ready to pounce at its foe. The gears in my head turn quickly at his question.

   "How much do you remember?" I ask, sounding almost as calm as my teachers urged me to be.

   "What?" he says with a wrinkle on the bridge of his nose.

   "From the crash. Do you remember any of it?" His eyes narrow and he scans my face as though looking for clues.

   "It—Yes, it crashed. The vessel. Got outside, there were people, made my way through, then... what does it matter, Jedi?" he says rapidly, tone hardening by his last sentence.

   "You might have a concussion. If your head hurts, that's why. I think you were hit by something when the ship exploded. That probably explains the leg as well," I say. His brows furrow. "I—I healed you. I found you and I healed you. Both of your injuries should recover faster—"

   "Why?" he interrupts. His gaze is as piercing as it is accusatory. I swallow hard.

   "I'm a healer. You're injured. That's kind of a reasonable equation, right?" I say, a hollow laugh escaping my throat. "And, well, I don't know where we are. I don't know this planet. I figured that neither of us would survive for very long at all without some sort of support. You being injured and both of us being lost and whatnot." I expect the liar's sting to hit my stomach any moment, but it doesn't arrive. Taking a deep breath, I turn off my lightsaber and hook it to my belt with shaking hands. His eyes widen as he takes in my actions.

   "Listen, whether we like it or not, we might need each other here. It ups our chances of survival substantially. Especially with those wounds of yours. Even if I don't have any disinfectant, they'll no doubt heal better if I treat them," I say. My heart feels like it's about to burst. He stares at me with enormous eyes, as if I'd just told him that the Force was actually plain old-fashioned magic.

   "You want to keep treating me?" he says, as if carefully weighing each word before speaking it. I press my lips together and lower my chin a bit.

   "Yes. And I want you to play by my rules. I have your lightsaber, and you know very well that you can't do much in your current state. Our little chase proved as much." I can feel the blood pumping in my finger tips and hear it rush through my ears. "So do as I say, don't try to bloody kill me, and I'll mend your wounds and let you live. Call it a truce, if you will," I say. I wet my lips while he stares at me. A shadow of a smile creeps onto his face.

   "You're serious," he states.

   "I am. And I'm a man of my word. We'll be worth more to each other if we at least try to work together." I clench my jaw and he takes in my expression. His smile widens and my muscles tense. It's as if it's too wide for his face.

   "Not what I expected from a Jedi," he says, and my heart skips a beat.

   "No?" I inquire.

   "Usually you just try to kill me."

   "Likewise," I say with a single raised eyebrow. He laughs as hollowly as I did. I angle my body back towards the woods and nod my head back towards the cave. He furrows his brow, posture relaxing somewhat.

   "Will you give me back my lightsaber?" he asks, once again carefully selecting each word. I scoff.

   "No. Try anything funny and I actually will kill you." His gaze hardens, smile all but extinguished.

   "Understood," he says, a hint of disgust in his tone. At this point, the pale sun has sunk below the trees on the horizon, now only reaching the peak of the mountains in the distance. Despite the mountaintops' rosy tinges, the undergrowth has darkened significantly.

   "Get a move on, it's getting dark," I say. Keeping his eyes locked on me, he steps back towards where we came from, muscles still tense. He winces upon putting weight on his bad leg.

   "It'll heal," I blurt out, a bit too enthusiastically. I try to tone it down. "It will heal soon. You just need to give it some time right now." He blinks at me, as though acknowledging my words, but says nothing. The instant he manages to pry his gaze off of me, he stops dead in his tracks. I follow his gaze and notice the smoke rising from the crash site on the nearby mountain. The ship itself is not visible from here, but the black smoke tells the tale without it. Tiny needles sting in my gut, as I realize that he likely never saw the aftermath until now.

   Looking back down on him, my muscles tense with a small gasp; he's already moved further ahead. I lingered longer than him. Drawing a deep breath to calm my antsy nerves, I march after him. The shadows are getting so long that they take up more space than the last light between them. An icy feeling settles into my stomach. My senses are on high alert, picking up every sound and movement around me, watching for every shift in Hawke's body language. We're in for one long, long night.


	2. Chapter 2

It's gotten warmer within the last half hour. The blanket and campfire combination is a golden one, and the rosy sunrays are beginning to creep onto the cavern floor once again. Despite how tempting it is to whip out one of my few proper meal packets, I have nothing to cook one in. An Order-standard energy bar on a stick, warmed over the open flames, will do for now. My gaze varies between the bar on a stick and the Sith warrior huddled up in the corner. He's still glaring at me, dark lines under his eyes somehow even more pronounced than yesterday. I nod my head towards the stick bar.

   "Do you want one?" I ask. He looks at the small meal, then back up at me, and blinks.

   "I'll take that as a yes," I mumble, unzip my shoulder bag, procure a packaged bar, and zip it back up. I gently toss it towards him, and he curls up and shifts away from its trajectory with a twitch. It lands next to him and he stares at it like a startled cat. I lower my gaze to my own food in an effort to stifle the laughter building in my chest. He scrapes it up, examines the wrapper, and tears it off. Despite the ravenous opening, he only nibbles at the contents and glowers at me the entire time. Breathing deeply, I manage to put a small smile on my face.

   "How's the head?" I ask. He quickly chews and swallows.

   "None of your business, Jedi," he says, tone low and harsh. I blink numerous times, lick my lips, and compose myself.

   "My _name_ is Anders," I say, trying my hardest not to sound irritated. After looking me over, he nods once. "What's yours?" A sting pierces my stomach as I ask. His lips part slightly at the question, and it takes him a couple of seconds to put together an answer.

   "Hawke. Samuel Hawke," he says.

   "Nice to meet you, Hawke," I say, and he furrows his brows and looks back down at his breakfast. Twisting my energy bar off of its stick and throwing the stick back in the fire, I let the smile return to my face.

   "And I'm asking about your head because, as I said, you might have a concussion. So I'd like to know how you're feeling, so I can gauge how badly you might be injured," I continue. His expression softens. It takes a few bites before he musters up an answer.

   "Still kinda dizzy, but that... weird feeling of pressure is better. I mean, it's almost gone. Mainly it's the wound that hurts, I think. And I'm tired, but... dunno if that's my head or the lack of sleep," he explains.

   "I see. That doesn't sound too bad after all. Thank you," I say with a nod. The large black mark that's emerged around the cut on his temple no doubt verifies what he said. Fatigue clings to my skull like lead weights as well. We've both spent the night only half-asleep, always keeping an eye or an ear on each other. I'd be lying if I said I couldn't go for a long nap. I break a piece off of my breakfast and pop it in my mouth.

   "What about your leg? It hasn't been bleeding, right?" I say, chewing rapidly. He eyes me and shrugs.

   "Alright, let me take a look," I say, and motion to get up. In an instant, he's positioned himself up against the side of the cave. His bad leg is shaking at the knee. He's thrown off his blanket and dropped his food on the stone ground.

   "Don't touch me," he snarls, jabbing a finger at me. I freeze in place and sit myself back down.

   "Listen, healing don't actually involve touching—" I begin to explain, but he shakes his head at me frantically.

   "Don't," he commands. I pop another piece in my mouth and take a sharp breath.

   "Okay. It'd help along the healing process significantly, especially without disinfection, but I won't force you," I say. I finish chewing. "Can you at least check if it's bled through the bandages?" I say, making an effort to keep my tone gentle. He drops back onto the ground, picks his bar back up, and shoves the rest of it in his mouth. Taking off the crumpled and twisted blanket, he awkwardly leans to the side to take a look at his leg. He shakes his head and looks at me. Indeed, the bandages look just like how I wrapped them, albeit less neat.

   "Alright. Thank you, Hawke," I say. I squeeze my lips together in a smile, at which he crosses his arms.

   "I'd like to check out the crash site," I continue.

   "To loot?" he asks. I narrow my eyes at him.

   "Mainly to look for resources that nobody needs anymore. Looting sounds like I'm planning to rob someone," I say, a crooked smile sweeping across my face. He shrugs with a single raised brow. "With any luck, there'll be plenty of stuff that will help us. And there might be more survivors, hopefully." I swallow hard. "I doubt there were more passengers than those I saw outside, I sensed nothing of the sort, but... if they're still in there, it's worth a shot," I say. It feels as though tiny needles sting my stomach. I throw my blanket to the side of the cave, get up, and heave my shoulder bag on.

   "What about the fire?" Hawke says, mirroring my actions.

   "It'll be fine, the stone pit should contain them. Especially if we make sure to leave our blankets and whatnot out of the way," I say and raise my eyebrows once. He blinks at me.

   "You first," I say and gesture towards the cave opening like a gentleman butler.

   "I don't really know the way," he says, lowering his chin slightly.

   "You first," I repeat, without a hint of humour. Flaring his nostrils, he sidles past me with slow, calculated movements. I duck out after him the second the sunlight illuminates his face.

 

*

 

The aroma of downpour still clings to the air. The soil is soft and the stone is slippery. Last night's clouds are now nowhere to be seen; instead, the sky is clear and blue. As we reach the top of the decline in the cliffside, the smell of meat and embers hit me like a slap in the face. Flames no longer lick the side of the craft, but a thin column of smoke remains. Pulling my roomy shirt up in front of my mouth and nose, I march towards the enormous, charred hole in the hull.

   I can feel its heat on my face when I am but a few meters from it. Inching closer, I try to peek inside. Everything is charred black. Only a few metallic objects seem to have survived the blaze – and I have no way of knowing if those objects are safe to be around anymore. I crouch down to get a better look. A large hole is torn through the roof of the ship, impossible to see from the outside. There's no trace of recent activity through the soot and ashes. The eerie quiet has the fine hairs on my neck stand up. At least until rummaging behind me finally catches my ears.

   Not yet getting back up, I twist my neck to take a look behind me. Hawke has squatted down as well, next to one of the corpses. He's combing through this person's wallet, systematically pocketing every credit chip he finds. Having emptied one wallet, he lets it drop to the ground and moves on to the next body. He starts by opening their purse and scouring its contents, after which he pats them down, looking for more. I draw a deep breath, which my body seemed to crave.

   "You really did mean looting," I mumble. He nods quickly.

   "Uh-huh."

   "Find anything useful?" I ask through a sigh.

   "Credits, mainly. One mint." He sticks out his tongue, on which I see a small, white droplet.

   "So no real food items?"

   "Not yet." Finding nothing on the current body, he stands back up and points at one of the charred corpses with his thumb. A toothy grin flashes across his face.

   "If we're about to starve, we can always just eat them," he says and snickers. Nausea coils through my stomach. I cringe at him and shake my head before dropping my gaze to the ground. I move along the side of the ship towards its rear, and I hear him clear his throat and follow me.

   Following the curve of the ship, I arrive at a squished plug door at the back of it. I grab its cold, bent handle. My boots slide across the wet stone as I put all my weight behind pulling it. Its metallic creaks scratch my eardrums, but it slowly shifts open. The air that emerges from within is stuffy, but it carries far less of that charred tinge. Peeking inside, a pale beam of light illuminates the gloomy interior. Nothing seems ready to crash down on top of me if I step inside. It's only when I do that I realize that everything is lopsided. From our position, the space is tilted upwards away from us. Moving up the previously level floors feels surreal, as if gravity itself is fighting against me. Nevertheless, it's safe.

   My abs tighten when I hear the sound of leather slipping against the laminated floors behind me. I look back to see Hawke gripping a safety railing. His knuckles are pale with strain and his lips are pressed together in a fine line. He continues towards my position with a slight limp. It's like watching him make his way up that hill all over again. Once more, I reach out my hand towards him with such a tight feeling in my stomach, it almost hurts. He narrows his eyes at it with a wrinkle on his nose, and resumes watching his feet as he walks towards me. Most of the tightness alleviated, I continue up the ladder to the living quarters. The further in I go, the more powerful the scent of smoke gets.

   I vaguely recognize most of the hallways. Despite only spending a day or so on the ship, I've memorized its layout around the small residencies. A film of familiarity sticks to my brain, as my feet traverse the rust red carpets and my eyes scan the swirly, patterned wallpaper. It looks nothing like the insides of Jedi ships. They have none such tacky attempts at solace. My body feels several kilos lighter when I lay eyes upon my own room number, despite the footsteps shambling like chronometer ticks behind me. Room card still in my pocket, I quickly place it on the reader. It no longer makes a satisfying beep when it opens, but it opens nonetheless.

   The room looks as though a rancor threw a hissy fit in there. My sheets are on top of the closet, the closet contents are on the opposite side of the room from the closet itself, and the single holorecord I brought has ended up on top of the ceiling lamp. Zero gravity during the crash likely did a number on it. With a small sigh, I start from one corner.

   As I scour through the closet pile, I hear Hawke's footsteps stop at the room entrance. Then they shamble onwards, deeper into the ship. My breath stalls and I consider calling after him. But I can still sense him vividly, and he can assuredly sense me right back. His unfamiliar aura is almost more of a presence than he himself is. From the piles I procure my coat, my datapad that now features a screen cracked to oblivion, and my large backpack. I tear it open and look inside. With a sigh of relief so great that I might as well slump to the ground, I see that my multitudinous ration packs are still there. As are the bowls, pans, and water bottles I brought in case of an emergency. I even manage to uncover my toiletries from under the bed, including the amenity toothbrush from the bathroom, alongside the small backpack that the room's residents could borrow.

   As I shove as many blankets as possible into my bag, my memory tingles. My chest feels light, but hollow as I turn towards the closet once more. I hurry towards it, almost tripping over the comforter that lies twisted across the floor. Adrenaline rushes through my body when my memory proves correct. Near the bottom of the closet, in the shadows of one of its shelves, lies a small communicator. Its charging wire is still plugged into it, and from the small crack in its monitor it seems like it's been tossed around in there.

   I snatch it like a child who finally got the candy they wanted and examine it thoroughly. I hold down the power button with bated breath. The screen lights up and I almost squeal. The colours are splotchy and the area around the crack shows nothing at all. However, I can still make out what the options say. I attempt a position placement, which fails. Then I adjust the frequency and hold the speak button.

   "Hello? Does anyone copy?" I say, carefully pronouncing each syllable. The answer I receive is nothing but white noise.

   "If anyone's out there, I'd love to get a ping. And a lift," I add. Several seconds pass where all I hear is my own hammering heart. Said heart slowly dropping, I wet my lips.

   "I can pay," I mumble, stomach feeling harder with each passing silent second. Receiving no answer, I examine the old communicator again. Building my lightsaber laid the foundations for my tinkering, but since then I've only maintained the cybernetic limbs of my fellow Jedi. While quite apt at that, it's a different beast compared to a simple, very old-fashioned communicator. I put it neatly on top of the toiletries and blankets in my bag, while the thought of whether I could fix it scratches at my brain.

   This speculation is pushed to the back of my mind when a wail echoes through the hallway outside my door. Hawke's vibrant aura seems to shrink by just a fraction. My blood runs cold. I am frozen in my squatting position on the floor. Forcing my lungs to draw a breath, I shoot up and dash out of the door. The sound came from deeper inside the ship. Needles run through my veins as I sprint down the corridor. The scent of smoke grows thicker the deeper I get. My heart skips a beat as the remaining life force shrinks a fraction once more. Entering the large dining hall, my eyes quickly scan the room. Towards the back, by one of the kiosks, Hawke stands with his back to me and one of his arms stretched out in front of him. Every muscle in my body tenses when I realize what lies by his feet.

   "Hawke!" I yell and run towards him. With each step, my heart beats harder. The person lying on the floor by him is no doubt completely still. A blaster remains clutched in their hand. As I get within a few meters of him, I see blood spattered on the back wall of the kiosk. I skid to a stop, and my throat feels like it's closing up. He looks back at me and lets his arm drop.

   "I found some food," he says nonchalantly. "I think it might—"

   "What the fuck did you do?!" I shriek, and he narrows his eyes at me. I throw myself before the person on the ground and check for a pulse. There is none, but they're still warm. From there, I spot the body inside the kiosk. The needles sting in my veins as I see the blood pooling around their head. I exhale through rounded lips and place my hands over this person's chest. Channelling the force through my fingers, I reach in and try to assess the damage. A chill runs down my spine as I examine it.

   "I crushed her. Don't bother," he says. He regards me with a wrinkle on his nose.

   "Crushed her?" I say.

   "From the inside. Contorted her—"

   "I get the picture," I snap.

   "What's the problem?" he says. I stand up, slide past him, and move to examine the person inside. Unlike the other one, they have no blaster. Inside, I see that the back wall isn’t the only one stained with blood. Their shoulder is contorted into an unsettling angle, and their bent skull is just as uncanny. Only the ashes are left of what little life force these people had.

   "You killed them," I state. "Why?" I add, before he gets to answer.

   "They were in my way. This one had a blaster," he says and points at the victim outside.

   "And, what, you were in grave mortal danger?" I don't even try to conceal the venom in my tone.

   "Pointed it at me. Very well could have been," he says, also raising his voice a notch. My nostrils flare and my heartbeat quickens.

   "And your first response is to kill them both?!" I take a step towards him.

   "Why not? Could've been in danger, as you said yourself. If it came down to—"

   "It doesn't seem like it came down to anything, I certainly didn't hear any blasts! You could've talked them down or something! They barely posed a threat to you at all, especially when one was defenseless, and this is what you do to them?" I say, jabbing my hand towards the crumpled corpse behind me, fingers rigid with tension. His nails dig into his palms and he bares his teeth slightly.

   "You people are so passive! You would have me wait until she shot me to engage? Risk my own life for the sake of some random, scared clod?" he says, gesturing towards the body with the blaster.

   "No, you could've just talked to them! They could've helped us—We could have helped _them_! Dammit, Hawke, we're stuck on some alien planet with no one to help us, and you just killed what might have been the only people who were willing to cooperate!" My heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. My insides feel like they're on fire. Hawke closes his eyes momentarily and tosses his head as if something bugs him.

   "You're missing the damn point, Jedi! I don't care what they might be willing to do, they were a threat to me! She pointed that blaster at me, she sealed her damn fate. I'm not gonna stand around and wait to be shot when I can easily remove the threat!" he says, pointing his finger at the body.

   "That's not—I'm not asking you to get shot," I say, throwing my arms out to the side. "I doubt they were actually any threat to you if you could kill them so 'easily'. You could've reasoned with them! But your impulse reaction was to go for the damn throat like some kind of rabid animal instead of defusing the situation," I say and draw a much needed breath. He stares directly at me with gritted teeth. His gaze feels like it's piercing straight through my skull. Running a hand through my hair, I try to breathe with my stomach. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity. It doesn't extinguish the pyre burning in my chest, but I can feel the protruding vein on my forehead diminish in size. It's as if I can envision my Master breathing down my neck. Hawke yanks a couple of items off the kiosk counter and spins around.

   "Going back to the cave," he says, with a voice so low and husky that it almost sounds like a threat. Needles roll through my stomach again. He marches a few steps away from me like both his legs are perfectly healthy, before I take another towards him.

   "No, you're not. You're staying right where I can see you," I say with as icy a tone as I can manage. He halts abruptly and the furniture in front of him moves in his stead. Chairs and tables skid across the tiled floors, still vibrating when their flight finally stops after a few meters. The skin is stretched thin across his knuckles and his fist is trembling. I observe him for a few seconds with bated breath. Taking one last look at the corpses, I stride across the dining hall.

   "Come along. Stay close," I say as I pass him. I can feel his gaze on the back of my skull and hear his irregular steps follow behind me out of the hall. I retrace my steps back to my room, where I retrieve my bursting backpack and the extra bag from under the bed. His aura vibrates behind me all the way to the plug door. Light feeling finally returning to my chest, I step back outside and prepare to take a deep breath. When I do, that feeling is dampened in an instant as I draw a lungful of the charred, smoky air. I double over coughing and slide around the other side of the ship in the hope that the smell will be less powerful there.

   As I round the other side of the ship and get my breathing back under control, I stop dead in my tracks. In the distance, at about the size of my fingernail from here, a tower stands tall between the multitudinous trees. Its foundation is reminiscent of the old power pylons I've seen in history books, but there seems to be a small cabin on top of it. On its roof sits a dish antenna that looks intact from here. I see no movement through the dark windows of the shack, but the sun is already reaching its zenith in the sky, which doesn't provide the optimal lighting for making such an observation. The tower's build suggests that it's an old look-out or radio tower. I wet my lips, rub my dry eyes with my hands, and hurry back to the plug door. When I round the corner again, Hawke regards me with a clenched jaw.

   "It looks like there's an old radio tower or something over in that direction." I point towards where it's hidden behind the crashed vessel, voice wavering slightly. "We might be able to get a signal off-world there. Or, hell, there might be people or supplies or something. I say we make that our next destination. If nothing else, it probably provides shelter," I say, a shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He blinks at me and turns to watch the horizon.

   "Alright. Okay. Great," I mumble, embers flaring in my stomach. I readjust the heavy backpack's shoulder-straps and strut back towards the incline off the mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

I almost feel bad about having woken him up. My nerves have been on edge all night, noticing even the slightest changes in his aura. But fatigue must have overtaken me a few times, since I'm feeling quite refreshed. Hawke, however, looks like a youngling whose alarm went off several hours early. His long, black hair is still tousled and several strands stick out at impossible angles. My own scalp is getting tender from having had my hair up in a ponytail for 3 days straight. It's preferable when I've been longing to wash it for approximately as long.

   "Do you want something to eat? I'm sure you can just eat while we walk," I say, as he puts on the small extra backpack and rubs his eyes with his palms. He shakes his head at me with a dead-eyed stare.

   "Well, let me know if you change your mind," I mumble and take a few more steps away from the cave. I scan the horizon in search of the radio tower. I see no sign of it between the trees, but I can recognize the notches in the mountain range behind where I saw it. If nothing else, the crash site and its faint trail of smoke will always lead me back to where I came from. Hawke yawns loudly and stretches his scrawny body like a lazy cat. The few times I know that I was awake, vibrations in his aura were what woke me. He always seemed tranquil on the surface despite them, whether he was asleep or awake. Whatever the cause, it seems as though it affected his sleep quality more than it did mine.

   "Alright, I know the radio tower is over in that direction. It should become visible when we get closer, naturally. So you just follow my lead, I suppose," I say, smiling like an over-enthusiastic instructor. He blinks at me. The undergrowth is thick in the area around the cave, but the ground itself is level and easy to traverse. Having walked for couple of minutes in silence, I sneak a peek behind me. His gait is far more steady than it was yesterday. He still favours one leg over the other, but I can barely call it a limp anymore.

   "It looks good," I say. He jerks his head back a little.

   "Huh?" he says, and my stomach stings. I bite my lower lip and one of my hands quickly settles on my nape.

   "Your walking. Uh, your leg. You know, it looks like it doesn't hurt as much," I chatter.

   "Oh." He looks down at said leg. "Yeah." A few seconds pass in silence, where I pretend to scratch my neck and let my hand drop again.

   "Dunno what you did to it, but I guess it's working," he says.

   "It'd work even better if you'd let me heal it again," I say with a biting tone. Instead of scoffing at the suggestion like he did last night, he purses his lips.

   "Must've been bad," he mutters. The slight smile on my face fades.

   "Well, if I hadn't healed and bandaged you in the first place, it probably would've incapacitated you for a few days, at least. Not to mention the increased risk of infection and whatnot," I say. He nods once. I turn my gaze ahead, expecting him to fall quiet once again. Instead, I almost jump in place when he draws a sharp breath.

   "Why is this radio tower so important anyway?" he asks.

   "Why wouldn't it be? I want to get off this planet, after all," I say.

   "And you have no other means of doing that?" he says. I can't determine if it's an honest question or if it's veiled mockery.

   "Well, I found this old communicator onboard the ship yesterday." I gesture towards my backpack, in which it lies. "It doesn't work though. So this tower might be my best bet," I explain. A strained sigh escapes his lips.

   "Not what I mean. Didn't your Order give you anything?"

   "No, not this time. Nothing other than my briefing." As I utter the last word, it feels as though a belt tightens around my stomach, and I swallow hard. "Why do you ask?" He snickers, immediately rekindling the embers in my chest.

   "So they just left you to fend for yourself? How ingenious," he says, smiling that wide, toothy smile. I scoff.

   "Well, what were they supposed to do? It's not like any of us knew the ship was going to crash. I don't usually need anything other than my datapad," I say, suppressing the desire to raise my voice.

   "Could've just given you a tracker, like mine," he says. The embers cool as my curiosity is piqued.

   "A tracker?" I ask.

   "Yeah," he mumbles.

   "What kind of tracker?"

   "An implant. So they know where I am," he says indifferently. My lips part and I stare at him with wide eyes.

   "They know where you are? At—at all times?" He nods once. Nausea creeps up my throat and my heart beats harder.

   "Why in the world would they give you something like that?" I ask. He looks at me with furrowed brows.

   "Jealous?" he retorts.

   "By the stars, no! Why would they do something like that to a person?" At that, he purses his lips.

   "I'm a valuable asset. Gotta keep an eye on those. Useful if I run away, too," he explains. The figurative belt tightens again.

   "Have you? I mean, have you run away before?" I ask quietly. He rolls his eyes and shrugs.

   "Once, when I was young and stupid," he says. I stare at him while walking. My pace has slowed so much that we're almost walking next to each other. Perhaps the Order's files were onto something with him, despite his murderous impulses. I turn my gaze ahead just in time to swerve around a tree. I hear him sneer under his breath, but the nausea in my throat overwhelms any response.

   "That's so invasive," I mutter. "Do all Sith have that?"

   "No. Only some," he says, shaking his head. I press my lips together and try to concentrate on moving through the thicket smoothly. I can almost hear the grin on his face when he speaks again.

   "So while you have to hunt for a radio tower, my Order knows exactly where I am. My Order was prepared, while yours left you stranded on this miserable planet," he gloats. A chill slithers down my spine, and I almost stop dead in my tracks.

   "So the Sith know where you are right now," I state.

   "Uh-huh. Should be coming for me before long," he says. I swallow and drop my gaze to my feet. I focus on keeping my breathing even while my blood runs colder by the second.

   "Well," I say with a shaky voice. "Maybe if that communicator I found isn't picking anything up or sending anything, neither is that tracker." His smirk fades.

   "Didn't you say it was broken?" he says, tone significantly lower.

   "Yes, but it turns on just fine and all. Might just be that the signal isn't getting off-planet or vice versa," I say. His gaze flickers.

   "Maybe," he mumbles and rubs the back of his head. At that, my body thaws somewhat. A deep breath brings my nerves back under control.

   It's more difficult to traverse the environment than I'd thought. Once we exit the level thicket, the most straightforward paths are rocky, steep, or both. On such an unstable foundation, it's still obvious that Hawke is injured. His pace slows considerably, and his limp resurfaces. But one way or another, we have to get around the larger cliffs that protrude from the earth and the rivers that twist through the landscape. These streams are much larger than they seemed from a distance. Even the deeper ones are crystal clear. Their floors are rocky around the cliffsides, while those nearer the forest have dark, muddy bottoms. Unfamiliar fish scurry around in their waters and idle with their faces towards the current in the stormy creeks. The wet aroma sticks to everything around us. I can feel the moisture amass in my tightly woven clothes.

   Across humid natural bridges, I have to suppress the urge to grab Hawke's arm as if he was a child to prevent him slipping. Nevertheless, I watch his movements closely. He frowns at me when he notices, at which I become aware of my gaze and the belt tightens again. I still have memories of my mother seizing my wrists whenever we traversed similar terrains. Her steps would be careful and precise, her tight grasp almost hurting my hand. If I cannot lead him like that, this is the next best thing. When I catch myself thinking it, it's as if my abdomen shrinks painfully. I press my lips together and trek on, upping my pace. My memories of home are too vivid here for my own good. Every once in a while, I peek back and the ice block in my stomach melts a bit more. He takes in the trees and the rivers and the mountain ranges as if he'd never seen anything like it. The scenery that to me exudes false familiarity makes him look like he hasn't seen a tree his whole life. Trudging on, he calls after me in the distance.

   "Wait!" In an instant, my hand is hovering over the lightsaber at my side. I turn to look at him before doing anything else.

   "We can eat these," he says, hoarse voice only just loud enough for me to hear him. He's kneeling next to an ocean green bush that's taller than him. In his hand lies a bunch of small, black berries. With a deep sigh, I let my hands relax and march towards him.

   "I have food if you're hungry," I say when I close the distance. He merely stares at the berries, squeezing one of them between his fingers.

   "Looks like they should be good," he mumbles. My heart skips a beat when I notice their rippled skin and purple tips.

   "Don't eat those," I say. He looks up at me with an intense gaze.

   "Why not? Everything checks out. Should be safe," he says. The survival tips that my instructors gave me would agree – those of them that I can remember.

   "Yeah, I know. I also know that this plant grew on my homeworld as well. Or at least something very much like it," I say, and his expression softens. "They won't kill you or anything, but they will give you the worst tummy ache." My insides quiver; it feels as though I'm exposing an artery to him.

   "Oh," he sighs. He throws the berries back in the bush and stands up. His knee trembles as he rises, and my hands twitch with the urge to support him. I shift my gaze to the long row of berry bushes and keep myself still.

   "Good," he says. I furrow my brows at him, before he continues. "Plenty of other things were edible on your homeworld, right?" he asks. My lips part and once again I feel the urge to cover my jugular.

   "Yeah. Of course," I say.

   "Maybe this ecosystem will sustain us, too." He brushes the berry juice off of his hands and treks past me. I linger for a second, muscles still tightened and frozen, before I tear myself away and follow him.

   "You know, I told you you could just let me know if you're hungry," I say with a crooked smile. He scoffs.

   "I'm not." The wrinkle on his nose slowly fades in favour of a pout.

   "Maybe a little bit," he mumbles. I yank another energy bar out of my shoulder bag and hold it out towards him. He carefully takes it between his index and his thumb, making sure not to touch me in the process.

   "Then what do you say to the nice man?" I say as he opens it. He looks at me with a cringe.

   "Fuck off." I exhale through a smile.

   "Alright. I'll admit I set myself up for that one," I say. "Don't you dare drop that wrapper in the forest though." He rolls his eyes at me and takes a tiny bite. The forest thickens as we trudge onwards. Sun flecks dance on the low growth beneath our feet, as the breeze flows through the treetops. Matching my pace to his makes it seem like precious seconds are rushing past me. I have no time to dawdle, and I keep my eyes peeled for the radio tower.

   "Do you mind if I ask what it's like to be a Sith?" I say, in an effort to break the silence. He stares at me and finishes chewing a tiny bite.

   "Why?" I shrug.

   "Just... out of curiosity. I never really had the chance to speak with one before," I say. He presses his lips together in a fine line. "None that hadn't been Jedi before, at least," I add with a sheepish smile.

   "I guess. What do you want to know?" he asks, without taking his gaze off his food. I take a deep breath and ruminate the question. There are so many things I've always wondered about.

   "Do you like it? In general?" I ask. He nods once and takes another bite. Instead of following up the motion with words, he chews the tiny amount of food thoroughly.

   "Why?" He shrugs with an expression of unreadable disinterest.

   "Get to kill shit," he says, meticulously removing more of the wrapper. The embers in my gut spark once again, but I kill their upstart with a stalled breath.

   "Is that really all you care about?" I say, unable to soften the edges of my words. His expression darkens, but he doesn't look away from his meal or answer me. I lean forwards to try to get a look at him.

   "That can't be all," I insist, and he glowers at me.

   "What answer are you looking for? That I also enjoy star-gazing or..." He draws circles with his wrist. "Or singing or that I'm obsessed with my hair? There's—I'm—" He gingerly touches his temple with his fingers. "I have a life outside of my dedication to the Order. For them, I kill and maim and torture. Whatever they need. I like it like that," he says. The needles in my veins sting as he continues eating. I can't take my eyes off him. The slightest hint of doubt in his features would soothe my hammering heart, but his current expression contains nothing but scorn.

   "Don't tell me you've never relished in bloody victory on the battlefield. Smiled as the tide turned in your favour," he continues. I wrinkle my nose at him.

   "No. Not like that, never like that. That's a devastating way to live, for everyone around you," I say, at which he rolls his eyes.

   "Keeps me strong."

   "Sure, and destroys the life of everyone else, of all your victims."

   "I'd rather do that than stand by and passively hope that someone else solves the problem. Preaching instead of taking action," he says, almost shoving his words at me. A jolt rushes through my torso as he speaks. I get my widening eyes under control and try to straighten my back. All too clearly, the words of my Master and numerous instructors echo through my mind.

   "That kind of malice leads to so much suffering. You can't do that to people, even if it means having to be the single eye of the storm instead and taking that burden upon yourself," I say. The words form on my tongue as though they aren't mine at all.

   "Typical Jedi drivel," he growls. Flames stir within the ashes inside of me, and I shake my head.

   "I just don't understand why you're so content killing people like that," I say.

   "Nobody's asking you to." He continues focusing on his meal, but I can see the tension in his fingers. The roof of my mouth feels swollen as I drop my gaze to my feet. The flames in my body are nigh immobilizing.

   "You're so fuelled by emotions. The Sith," I mumble, words slipping out without a second thought.

   "Of course. What else?" he says, after swallowing another tiny bite.

   "Well, it's the role of a Jedi is to pursue and maintain peace and justice in the galaxy. Is that not an honourable goal in itself?" I say.

   "And you can't do that without pretending to be calm all the time? Without putting yourselves on some damn pedestal?"

   "It's not—" I rub one eye with the palm of my hand and sigh. "Historically, Jedi who were highly passionate and emotional haven't worked well as Jedi at all. They've given into negative emotions like anger and hatred and eventually... fallen, so to speak. Perverted from their original purpose, not to mention their wasted potential as force users," I explain, actively trying to breathe between sentences.

   "What, like me?" he says, venom dripping from his tone.

   "By your own admission?" I say, leaning forwards with raised brows to look at him again. He groans loudly and throws his head.

   "You're impossible," he grumbles. "I find strength through action and emotion, instead of order and serenity and whatever else you pride yourselves on." A tight-lipped smile flashes across my face.

   "That almost sounds reasonable. Unlike your deeds," I say. He sighs and clenches his jaw.

   "Repressive bantha fodder," he says and nibbles on the bar. "You don't have to throw away passion and emotion just to..." He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging. My stomach won't stop stinging.

   "It's best that way," I say, voice not quite as steadfast as I'd like.

   "Sounds like a hollow existence." At that, more memories crack open in my mind. I have to breathe and ground myself through the Force to suppress the pressure behind my eyes, my throat closing up, and the constraint in my torso. The urge to run bubbles in my legs.

   "It might sound strange, but it really is best for us to avoid things like love in the long run, even if it might seem harsh," I say, once my throat has stopped feeling swollen. He looks at me again, this time with wide eyes and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

   "So it's true?" he blurts out. I lower my chin slightly.

   "What is?"

   "That you're not allowed to love?" I chew on my lower lip for a moment.

   "I... wasn't aware that you knew about that."

   "Of course. I'm acquainted with former Jedi. Know about your code and all that, too." I look away with a sigh.

   "Then yes, it's true," I say. Now it's his turn to lean forwards and catch my gaze.

   "Why? Never understood that. Why rob yourselves of that, when you're so obsessed with serenity and calm and—and positive shit?" he asks, chattering like he can't get the words out fast enough.

   "Exactly because we value serenity. Love is... passionate and unstable and unpredictable. Compassion is all well and good, but it's the attachment that's dangerous, and thus forbidden. It's so easy for it to lead to loss and anger and betrayal and all that. You should know that as well as I do," I explain. He stares at me, eyes darting all over my expression. I become astutely aware that my nostrils are flared and my lips are pressed together. Then he takes another bite, shaking his head.

   "Are _you_ allowed to... form relationships?" I ask, and his chewing pauses.

   "Sure. Long as it doesn't lead to mercy," he says. My insides quiver.

   "What? To mercy, so... so you that wouldn't hesitate to kill your partner?" I say, my voice all but a whisper.

   "Exactly. Just in case." I stare at him with my mouth hanging wide open. The ice block has plunged back into my stomach.

   "That's brutal. I can't believe they treat you like that, just... grooming the lot of you," I murmur.

   "Keeps us strong," he says with that disinterested look. My mind draws a blank. It feels as though exhaustion has wrapped itself around my internal organs. The thought of the Sith conditioning people like that is almost too much to bear. I look around, eyes searching for an anchor to fixate on. Ahead of us, the trees become more sparse, letting pale sunbeams illuminate more of the forest bed once again. Small, magenta sprouts peek out of the damp soil in the paths of light between the tree tops' shadows. Next to me, I hear him curl up the energy bar's wrapper. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stare at it for a few seconds, after which he shoves it in his pocket. I lick my lips and sigh deeply, alleviating some of the tension in my body.

   "Thanks for answering," I say, nearly managing to smile. He blinks at me. We've only walked a few meters further, when I spot a hunk of metal between the tree trunks a few dozen meters ahead. The instant the image settles in my mind, I gasp and stop dead in my tracks. I can hear him freeze alongside me when I do, his aura trembling just a tad. I look the metal over and follow its form up through the tree crowns. I can barely see the top of the dish antenna that I saw on the roof of the lookout. Peering through the trees, I can make out a second leg and some crisscrossing metal beams. The entire structure is a good few meters to the left of our current path. If I hadn't found it now, we likely would've passed it by.

   "There it is!" I exclaim and take off towards the lookout. The light feeling in my chest disperses some of the remaining tension. But the closer I get to the tower, the more prominent the needles yet become. As I reach it and stare up the tall structure, I notice the rust that adorns its surface. Every joint and welding is chipped and peeling. My teeth dig into my lower lip. What would be several floors above us hang the remains of the staircase that used to wrap around its legs. There's no trace of what happened to what must have broken off.

   "Looks fucked up," Hawke states. I nod with my lips pressed together. While rather acrobatic, I can't make a jump high enough to reach the broken staircase. I could, however, climb up there via the x-beams that keep the tower's legs and entire structure stable.

   "Sense anything?" he asks, eyeballing the forest around us. I take a deep breath, grounding me and at the same time calming my quivering insides, and close my eyes. His aura is still huge and bright. I try to focus beyond it. To our right, behind several rows of trees, sits a tiny aura. It's slowly moving away from us – likely a prey animal.

   "There's some small animal to our right. It's not dangerous though," I say, letting the words flow without restraint. I hear him turn in that direction, body tensing. There are plenty of signatures in the trees above and around us. Life courses through the ground as well. I focus on the small metal cabin high above. Its clunky shape forms clearly within my mind. I grit my teeth, as I sense life up there. Larger than the prey animal to our side, and yet I'm not sure if it's big enough to be a person. It's uneven, almost splotchy, and it could be anything from a small humanoid to a cluster of eggs.

   "Something's up there," I say. I see him immediately look back at me, as I open my eyes.

   "What?" he asks. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

   "I'm not sure. Its signature isn't clear," I mumble. "But it could be a person."

   "Could be dangerous, then."

   "Or helpful," I say, regarding him with my head titled. He only momentarily glowers at me, before he, too, stares at the sky high lookout. He has to crane his neck back even more than I do to see it.

   "Can you really sense all that?" he mumbles. "Must get... tiresome." My breath stalls for a second.

   "It does, sometimes. It's a lot of impressions to sort through," I say softly. I step towards the tower, lay my hand on one of the crossbeams, and give it a shake. Despite the rust and the cracks, it doesn't move and barely creaks. The metal isn't freezing cold, but it's still damp like the rest of the forest. My grasp leaves a handprint in the wet, grey sheen that sticks to it.

   "It seems safe enough, but that staircase really doesn't bode well," I say, gesturing towards the broken stairs. Meanwhile, he's placed his hand on the same beam, and puts his good leg up on the lowest point.

   "Wait, what're you doing?" I say. He glares at me as though I'd asked him what a lightsaber is.

   "Climbing." I blink multitudinously and put both of my hands on my nape.

   "Well, obviously. I really don't think you should be doing that." He narrows his eyes.

   "Why the hell not?"

   "Because of that leg, first and foremost," I say and jab a finger at his injury. "And if it _is_ a person up there, I'm not sure you're the best welcoming committee." At that, a wrinkle creeps up his crooked nose bridge.

   "Won't happen again. I know you don't approve of that now." My abdomen tightens and my brows furrow. Memories of their mangled bodies stream through my consciousness, sending a chill down my back.

   "That's not the point at all," I grumble.

   "It's a truce, right? Told me to play by your rules," he says, raising his voice a bit. I run the palm of my hand down over my face.

   "Fine. Whatever. Either way, you shouldn't be climbing with an injury like that."

   "I'm lighter than you. If this place falls apart just from my weight, it's sure as hell not safe for you," he says. I hold his intense gaze for a few seconds, before sighing and crossing my arms.

   "You really want to climb this tower, huh," I say, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. His expression softens and he nods once.

   "Fine, then. But don't come crying to me when you fall down and break something." He exhales through a grin.

   "Come on, you'll catch me," he teases. I mirror his expression and exhalation.

   "No promises." With that, he puts his feet up on the beam and starts making his way up. I can't judge exactly how tall the tower is, but a fall from just a few floors up is going to kill him. His movements are quick, but noticeably cautious. He tests every single step with his bad leg before taking it. At this distance, I can still hear the squeaks of his boots against the glistening metal. A few creaks accompany his journey, but nothing falls apart or sends him plummeting to his demise. The further up he gets, the more my abdomen relaxes. Just before he reaches the top of the tower, he slips. His shaky foot slides off the beam, followed by the rest of his lower body. My entire body tenses. He doesn't manage to catch himself. His fingers graze the side of the beam.

   "Hawke!" I shriek. With a squeal, he plummets. I draw a sharp breath. The Force guides my movements. I put my foot down and reach my hands out towards him. I lock myself in place, push back against his plunge, and he locks with me. His fall is cut short in mid-air. The hard stop likely knocked some air out of his lungs. I can't relax yet; holding him at this distance is like balancing a droid on a needle. If I lower or raise him, I might drop him prematurely. If I put him back on the tower, the balance might tip as well. Every breath I take feels dry and rough. My stomach hardens, and I make a split-second decision. Gently, I tilt him back towards the tower. Just when my balance starts to falter, and a jolt shoots through my insides, he gets close enough to grab on. He pulls himself back up by his arms and finds his balance, lying sideways on the girder. He clings to it like a bur. I lower my arms and finally breathe out, wet my mouth, and swallow.

   "Are you okay?" I shout. He doesn't answer and instead slowly drags himself upright. Even from this distance, I can see that he's trembling. He scales the last couple of beams at half his regular pace. I can finally breathe easy when he climbs over the railing at the very top. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a few breaths so deep that I can feel them in my toes. Seconds pass like days as I wait for him to make contact with me. After half a minute that feels eternities longer, I hear loud scraping noises from the top. My heart immediately beats harder, before I see the metal ladder being lowered down to me over the railing. The huge thing unfolds with multitudinous clangs, until its last link hovers just around hip-height over the ground. I grab on immediately and test the firmness of its joints. It wiggles slightly in my grasp, but not enough to warrant worry. I put my feet up and scale the ladder as fast as I can. The steps are somewhat slippery, but nowhere near as wet as the rest of the tower. Every step of the way, I look for Hawke up on the platform around the cabin. This also ensures that I do not look down.

   I'm panting when I reach the top, and my thighs are burning. Peeking up over the railing, I see Hawke leaning against it a few meters from me. His weight is distributed between his healthy leg and his arms.

   "Are you alright?" I ask, as my feet once again touch solid durasteel ground. That's when I notice that the rail is bending underneath his fist. There are already indentations around his fingers in its surface.

   "Fucking hurts," he groans, voice huskier than normal. I shake off my backpack and approach him.

   "Let me take a look," I say. He puts up his free hand in front of me and sways away from me.

   "Don't," he says. The tension in my stomach is almost magnetic. It pulls me towards him, as if there's a singularity within him that begs me to help.

   "It's the leg, right? The wound might've reopened or something, I have to—"

   "Don't make me repeat myself," he snaps, and the metal screeches in his grasp. My abs tighten and I force myself to step away from him. I nod, brush back loose strands from my fringe, and include them in my tight ponytail. Then I inch closer to the cabin's windows. The transparisteel panes have cracks in them, and rust has seeped into every corner up here as well. The tech and panels inside are covered by a thin, white layer of dust, but they look intact. I can still clearly sense the life signature inside, but I have no visual on whatever it belongs to. Nobody's lying on the floor or cowering in the corner.

   "It looks clear," I say, tone coated in confusion.

   "It's not," he grumbles, and I shake my head.

   "I know. Be careful. There's no telling what—" I jump in place when the door slams open inward. Hawke lowers his hand and takes a single limping step towards the entrance. That's when the auras animate. Out from every spacious nook and cranny crawl large, brown lizard creatures. They're about half my size in length alone, and their jaws are heavyset. One drops down from the ceiling above and immediately prepares to make a leap for the exit – straight towards Hawke. I act on pure instinct. I dash towards him, slide in front of the entrance, and unhook my lightsaber. I turn it on just as it jumps at me, and I plunge it through its chest. Its body loosens up immediately. Darting inside, one pounces from above the door towards my back. I turn on my second lightsaber blade and jab it backwards. This cleaves its mouth with surgical precision. My Force senses are as important as my eyes and ears. The instant before one makes a move, I feel it. Their very decision to attack guides my motions. My heart is hammering in my chest as I twirl further into the cabin and rend the chest of another that very nearly hits me. Our moves harmonize to my advantage. The next needs only a quick whack to forever halt its escape. I tense up when another makes for the door. I don't have to act at all before that escape is prevented too. The hairs on my neck stand up as I sense its insides twist. Hawke is holding both of his hands out towards it, slowly curling up his fingers. I step towards it and stab the tip of my blade into its skull. It falls dead, and Hawke's sudden exhalation is audible. I sense no more rogue signatures. Panting, I switch off my saberstaff and take a look around.

   In the middle of the room stands what looks like a table with a map in its center. I strut closer and examine it. It's a tad old-fashioned, but it has a life-like imitations of the area's landscape, rises, and falls on its surface. Names are written on what must be various landmarks. I recognize some of the script, but not enough to actually decipher what it says. The panelling around the map suggests that it's able to display holograms as well. I press a button with anticipation simmering in my stomach. Nothing happens. With a pout, I run my fingers across the panel, pressing the rest of the buttons, but nothing seems to garner a response. Its age might have caught up with it, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the technology in here.

   In the corner of the cabin stands a small cot that's obviously too short for me. The only other furniture that isn't tech are lockers and a single desk. Three out of four lockers seem to have been torn apart from the inside, with shelves missing, cracked, and crooked, and their contents spilled on the floor in front of them. Whether this is the result of lizards or something else remains to be seen. I can tell how the creatures traversed the room just by examining the tracks in the dust layers. The majority of these tracks have been made during our short fight.

   With my heart hammering in my chest, I approach the communications device. It's an enormous chunk of metal as big as the steering modules on old freighters. It's adorned with burst lights and neon buttons. My fingers are shaking a little as I throw the cover off of the power switch, whirling up dust specks, and flip it. I gasp through gritted teeth as an electric current sinks its teeth into my arm. I yank my hand away only to see sparks flying from the button and the panels surrounding it. A fizzling noise seethes within, but no smoke emerges. As it fizzles out, I slam my hand onto one of the speaker buttons. The radio makes a short scratching noise, followed by dead silence. My heart is beating so hard, it almost hurts.

   "Can anyone hear me?" I say and let the button go. It scratches again and goes dead. I press it once more and prepare to speak, but I instead let go with a hollow feeling in my knees. This time, it simply says nothing. It doesn't even produce white noise anymore. My heart sinks as the seconds pass. No noise and no response. The embers burst back to life in my chest. A shout tears through my throat and I slam my fist on the panel. I let it rest there for a full second. Then I keep pounding. Another howl escapes me from the very depths of my core as I give it one last hit. As adrenaline shakes through my body, I lay my arms around the dent I made in the communicator's surface and rest my forehead on my fists. Every breath is a struggle. I recite the code in my head compulsively, but it doesn't relieve the pressure in my throat. Hawke shuffles around behind me, likely making the same observations I did.

   "Think these are edible?" he mumbles. I exhale, stand up straight, and lean on my hands – one of which is now bright red and throbbing.

   "I don't know," I say, voice thick and cracking. I clear my throat. "Maybe. They don't look venomous."

   "No. Too sneaky and camouflaged. Not bright and weird and smelly," he concludes. The corners of my mouth twitch upwards, and I look out at the forest below.

   "Yeah," I whisper. I turn to look at him and, out of the corner of my eye, something catches my attention. Redirecting my gaze, the flames in my torso pacify and my body feels significantly lighter. Next to where the nearest river curves around a mountain range lies a small settlement. It's surrounded by a wall and consists of a small collection of low buildings, as far as I can see. I have an excellent view from here, but part of the village is consumed by forest and thus not visible.

   "Hawke, come look at this," I say and wave him towards me. He limps closer and supports himself on the communications array. I point towards the settlement and he follows my gesture, standing on his toes to see.

   "Oh. Some kind of village?" he asks with a noticeably lighter tone.

   "I think so. It might be worth checking out, don't you think?" He nods, examining the place from a distance as I did.

   "Should we throw down our blankets for the night?" he says. I sigh deeply.

   "I guess so. I can go gather some stones and whatnot for a campfire, so we can stay warm and try to roast some of those creatures," I mumble. He scoffs and stares at me with a raised eyebrow.

   "Seriously? You'd carry all that up here?" he says.

   "Sure, that's the least of our problems. It seems like I have some energy that I need to get out, anyway," I mumble. "It's more important that we can ventilate this place properly, so we don't choke to death." He shakes his head at me with a tired smile.

   "Be my guest, then," he says.

   "I will," I say, and head for the door. "You can take the cot, by the way. It's too short for me, I can tell." He doesn't respond until I've already got a leg out the door.

   "Jedi." I halt and look over my shoulder at him. He's not looking at me. "Thank you for, uh... saving me. Rescuing me," he says, only meeting my gaze momentarily. The flames in my stomach die down to mere embers.

   "Don't mention it," I say. "And my name is still Anders," I add, making sure to speak without a hint of sass. He scratches the shaved side of his head with his jaw clenched.

   "Thank you, Anders," he murmurs. I smile at him with a strange fluttering feeling in my gut.


	4. Chapter 4

The drumming of raindrops against the roof and windows coerces me out of my slumber. I let a deep breath run through my body, all the way down to my toes, and curl up underneath my blankets. The warmth from the campfire still clings to the floor around it. It's a dry warmth, and I can tell that my mouth and head need water. After rubbing out my sleepy-seeds, I drag myself upright into a sitting position. I rearrange my blankets around my shoulders between several yawns. Sleep was not kind on me last night. Conscious and subliminal worries merged, creating dream scenarios that needed waking up from several times. No matter how much I tried to relax and meditate, the thought of Sith ships emerging out of pitch black skies wouldn't let me go. It feels like the weight of my head could send it crashing through the floor if my hand didn't support my chin like a pedestal.

   With another deep inhalation, I notice the smoke in the air. The needles stir in my veins before I recognize the scent. It's unmistakable, even if it's been a while since I last smelled it. I turn my stiff neck to look at the cot in the corner. Hawke is sitting up in it, gazing out of the cracked window. Whatever he's staring at out there is unfathomably distant. In the corner of his mouth hangs a half-smoked cigarette.

   "Good morning," I croak and clear my throat. His gaze snaps to mine. He nods at me with a tight-lipped smile and that thousand-yard stare.

   "Where did you get that?" I ask and point at the cigarette. He puts it between his fingers and takes a drag before answering.

   "From the ship," he says. A twinge of nausea hits my stomach, but I focus on his face and avoid lingering on the memories.

   "Right. Of course," I mumble. I run my fingers through my greasy hair and reach towards my backpack. I can just grab it with my fingertips without having to alter my comfy position too much.

   "Want one?" he asks. I pause and stare at him.

   "Uh, no thanks. I don't smoke," I say. He shrugs at me.

   "Figured." From my bag, I procure the remains of yesterday's fried meat. Not much of it proved edible, but there's still enough left for a hearty breakfast. It'll likely go bad if we don't eat it now regardless. Thoroughly wrapping my blankets around myself, I stand up and shuffle towards him. I hand him the package, and he looks back and forth between it and me.

   "It's the meat from yesterday," I say with a small smile. He nods at me once and takes it between his index and thumb. I take a seat back by the campfire like a old man whose every joint aches. As I unwrap my own package, Hawke shifts on the cot. I look back at him, and he's swung his legs over the side of the small bunk. From there, he tosses the cigarette butt in the campfire's ashes and unwraps his food. I take a large bite and quickly chew to swallow. It's dry, stringy, and just below comfortable room temperature. But a meal is a meal, and there's no sense in letting this go to waste. I make my way through two and a half pieces before checking on him again. His bites are as tiny as ever. He seems to spend more time picking at it than he does actually eating it.

   "Not hungry?" I ask with a gentle, jovial tone. He looks up at me like a startled rodent, and it takes him a few seconds to find an answer. Then he shrugs at me and looks at my own meal.

   "Hungry?" he asks. I shrug back. His expression softens, and it looks like a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Just as I take another large bite, he draws a breath.

   "Do you think..." he says and then falls quiet again. I pause my chewing to look at him. When he doesn't continue, I slowly finish chewing while he stares at his lap with narrow eyes. He still hasn't picked back up when I swallow.

   "Do I think what?" I ask. He shakes his head with his lips pressed together.

   "Never mind." I raise my brows at him.

   "No, it's okay. You can ask me just about anything," I say and add a nervous laugh. He looks up at me with an intense gaze and a wrinkle between his brows. I can't place if it's a hint of doubt or disbelief.

   "Seriously?" he asks with a low tone. I nod.

   "Sure." He looks me over and it takes a few seconds before he speaks anew. When he does, his gaze has migrated back to his lap.

   "Do you think I damaged it? When I hit my head?" he says, fidgeting with his fingers. I furrow my brows at him.

   "Damaged what?" I ask.

   "My tracker." My lips part as my insides quiver. "What if they can't find me?" he adds. I drop my gaze to his feet and blink multitudinously. The cogs in my head turn and chirr. I can't dispel the images from my nightmares, but I felt his vibrations during the night as well. He was just as restless as I was – likely for similar reasons. With a deep sigh, I lick my lips.

   "I don't know, Samuel." At the mention of his name, he looks up at me again. "It might very well be broken or damaged in some way like the rest of this equipment, but... I can't really say. I wish I could tell you something conclusive, but I know just as little as you do," I explain with a gentle tone. His lower lip twitches once, and he looks beyond me, at the campfire.

   "They should've been here by now," he whispers. I regard him with my head tilted.

   "As I said, I can't say what's going on. But we're in this mess together, right? We'll find some way to fix it. It's what we've been working on all along, anyway," I say. His eyes widen slightly and he glares at me for a few seconds before popping another piece in his mouth. He nods several times.

   "Yeah. Of course. Makes sense," he mumbles. "Settlement today, right?" I crack a smile at him.

   "Yeah." I eat the remaining half of my meal in record time. I put the packaging in the side pocket of my backpack, finally shed my toasty blankets, and stuff them into the main compartment. Just as I turn towards Hawke, he hands me his crumpled blanket as well. He has still barely picked at his food.

   "We can wait until you've eaten," I say. He shakes his head and wraps the meat back up.

   "It's fine. I can eat while we walk," he says. At that, I look over his leg with tension building in my stomach.

   "On that note, how's your leg?" I ask. He wiggles his toes with a wrinkle on his nose.

   "Dunno. Still hurts. Not as bad as yesterday, but..." With a sigh, I put the backpack down.

   "Are you sure you don't want me to heal it?" I ask and put my hands on my hips. He chews on his lower lip and seems to shrink as he slouches.

   "If it still hurts, getting down from here on that ladder is going to be hell," I add. He clenches his jaw.

   "Okay," he mutters. My breath stalls.

   "Okay? You mean, I can heal you?" I ask. He nods once without looking me in the eye. My body immediately feels several tons lighter, and I roll up my sleeves. Rummaging through the bag, I pull out my huge toiletries pouch which contains all of my emergency medical items. I grab my disinfectant and some cotton pads and crouch down next to him.

   "I'm just going to remove the old bandage and disinfect the wound first, okay?" I say. He blinks at me. While he watches my every move with great scrutiny, I unwrap the bandages. Below the outer layers, blood clings to the fabric. I press my lips together, but the dried blood does look rather new. It hasn't been there since I first wrapped the bandage, but probably emerged yesterday. The wound itself looks much better as well. It's opened up near its base, but that base has healed well since I last saw it. Leaving the old bandage on the floor behind me, I put some disinfectant liquid on a cotton pad.

   "I can't lie to you, Hawke, this is probably going to hurt," I say, my usual nurse intonation cropping up. He nods at me with wide eyes. With slow, calculated movements, I press and drag the pad down the side of the wound. I can almost sense his cringe. It takes a few pads to clean it entirely, but he takes it well, and I can't help but smile at how nicely the wound has healed from just a single session.

   "Looking great," I mumble. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Holding my hand over the gash, I get a feel for its structure. I achieve focus and serenity much faster than last time. The rhythmic drumming of the raindrops helps. Then I knit. Each string intertwines with the next in a pattern as close to the original as I can make it. The flesh will figure out the rest just fine on its own. The nerves that were throbbing when I begun are soothed and his heart-rate slows and stabilizes. When I finish, the wound has almost closed. I exhale sharply and look up at him. The skin around my eyes crinkles as I take in his expression. His eyes are enormous and his mouth is hanging wide open. When he tears himself away from my handiwork, he looks to the side with his teeth buried in his lower lip. At that angle, I end up staring straight at the still sizeable bruise that adorns his temple. I moisturize my lips and stand back up. In his sitting position, he seems almost tiny compared to me.

   "Would you like me to heal your head wound as well?" I ask, my stomach tightening as I speak. He narrows his eyes without looking at me. Once again, he ruminates on it before responding.

   "Okay," he whispers. I nod once and pull out some more cotton pads.

   "It looks like the sore has almost healed, but I'd still like to disinfect it, okay?" I say, and he blinks at me. With a surgeon's steadiness, I disinfect his wounds. The process rinses nothing notable, and this time there's no cringing. I let my hand hover mere inches over his bruise. I can sense his unease; shallow breaths and a hammering heart. First, I reach in behind the bruise. Entering his skull as gently as possible, I form a clear picture of its contents. No swelling, no haemorrhaging, no signs of internal damage at all. A small smile creeps onto my face. I refocus on the remains of the wound itself. My force bleeds onto his skin and I mend his flesh. As I do, he exhales and lets his shoulders drop. His heart-rate quickly slows and each breath he takes is deep and calm. It takes very little effort before the teeny cut has sealed up completely. I linger to speed along the healing of the bruise before letting my hand drop. When I regard his face again, I realize that he's closed his eyes. It takes a few seconds for him to open them, and when he does, he looks at me with bright eyes and carefully touches his bruise. Instead of blue and purple, it's now a curry yellow hue.

   "Shit. Thank you," he breathes.

   "All in a day's work. How does it feel?" I ask. He wiggles his toes again, with more vigour this time.

   "Better," he says, before getting up. He makes sure to support himself on one of the lockers next to the cot. "Much better," he concludes and looks at me with the crooked smile of a padawan who just pulled off a new Force trick.

   "Great," I say. "It's a pity I can't reward you with a lollipop for your manners. I'll have to give you a rain check on that one." At that, he laughs. It's different than the snickers or chuckles I've heard from him before. Instead, it's a genuine laugh that starts in his belly and then makes his whole body shake. It makes his voice lighter despite its hoarseness. His wide smile is somehow softer than usual, and the skin around his eyes wrinkles. Multitudinous butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I feel my cheeks heat. I tighten my abs and turn away from him in an attempt to replace that feeling with wiry stiffness.

   "I'll make sure to take you up on that," he says through his laughter. "Thanks, Anders." My heart skips a beat. I have to dig my nails into my palms to finally make the fluttering vanish.

   "Didn't even realize how much my head still hurt," he adds. Stuffing my medical tools into my bag, I look back at him with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

   "Yes, it's not so strange. That sort of thing becomes all the more obvious when weeks' or days' worth of healing occurs in seconds," I explain. He purses his lips and nods.

   "Makes sense." He puts his wrapped-up meal into his smaller backpack and puts it on while I finish gathering the rest of our things. While he crams his cigarette papers and tobacco in his pocket, I heave the backpack onto my back with a groan. I can already feel it pulling on my shoulders. Depending on the length of the trip, I'm going to need to heal myself later, just for good measure. Or crave one hell of a massage.

   "I do wish I didn't have to lug around all this junk," I mumble, as I fasten the support buckles around my chest. He giggles and regards me out of the corner of his eye.

   "I'll help when I can. Promise," he hums, while dumping the used bandages and pads in the ashes of the campfire. Moisture rapidly evaporates from the latter in the lingering heat. I give him a single nod before opening the lookout door. Humidity streams inside and clashes with the drier, stuffy air like a tidal wave. It smells as if every flower in the vicinity just bloomed. The fine rain cools my face as I venture outside. I rearrange my tunic so that it properly covers the lightsaber at my hip. This amount of rain isn't going to short-circuit it, but there's no need to tempt fate. I pat my shoulder bag, wiping off some of the water on its surface; I can breathe easy knowing that it's water-proof. A silver grey mist has shrouded much of the forest. Even from this height it's impossible to see where the settlement is, but at least we can follow the river. My heart sinks a little when I recall that the railing was bent yesterday. With slow, careful movements, I trace my fingertips over the indentations from his hand. The metal is cold and wet and I can feel the grooves in its texture where he crushed it. Behind me, he stalks towards the ladder and unfolds it anew. Hoisting it up yesterday had me panting for several minutes afterwards.

   "Do you feel well enough to climb down?" I ask, over the sound of its unfolding clangs. He rubs the back of his head.

   "Yeah, think so," he says. I approach him as its last link hangs over the grass-covered ground below. Even the grass isn't fully visible through the fog.

   "Should I go first anyway?" I ask with a playful hint to my tone. He smirks at me.

   "Perhaps." With raised eyebrows, I wave him aside with my hand. He takes a single step back with crossed arms. I place my feet on the ladder with calculated movements, and he eyes me all the way down. My movements have to be slow because of the raindrops that still rest on each step, but, knowing that he's got an eye on me, I make sure to take my time nevertheless. The second my feet touch solid ground, I hear him get on the ladder as well. His first few steps are as careful as mine, if not more so. I see him stop and breathe every couple of seconds, but he never lingers for longer than the blink of an eye. When he's about halfway down, he looks down at me. My body immediately tenses. I'm about to gesture for him to come on down, when he puts his hands and his feet on the side of the ladder and slides down. A gasp rushes through my throat and I cover my mouth with my hand. I have to step back to quell my urge to stop him with the Force. Just before he reaches the end of the ladder, he tightens his grip and slows his descent. He's stopped entirely when he puts his feet on the last step and then lets himself drop to the ground. I glare at him with wide eyes and flared nostrils. A smirk spreads across his face as he turns around and takes in my expression.

   "You're going to give me a damn heart attack," I grumble, toss my head dramatically, and march towards the river. He snickers as he follows behind me.

 

*

 

At this point, a long, warm shower or a change of clothes would be welcome. The moisture that clings to my garb makes me feel like I've been wrapped in fresh seaweed. While goosebumps dot my arms and the hairs on my neck stand up, the thought of a bath warms my insides. The river courses in the opposite direction of which we came from. Some of the fog has lifted, and I can now see the trees emerge out of the mist two dozen meters ahead of us. The soft thrum of the raindrops against the water's surface provides a soothing backdrop for our travels.

   Hawke's gait is the most balanced it's been for the past few days. But even at this more regular pace, his every step is still wary. The traversable path that winds along the river is peppered with jagged, rocky patches. Water sits on the stone surface like oil. The Force guides my movements. When I listen, I know just how to place my feet to avoid slipping. It's a second intuition, amplifying and correcting my senses and gut feeling. Back in the day, on rocky runs just like these, I thought it were my own skills that provided that extra sense of security. It was all intuition, reflexes, and experience. It was the elders talking about how agile I was for my age, not instructors who told me to tune in and listen harder. There was no Force, it was all me. Until the Jedi visited my village and it wasn't.

   I'm torn from my rampaging memories when Hawke gasps. The next second, he collides with my side, fingers wrapping themselves around my arm like pythons. The sudden contact has me jump and freeze in place. I look over my shoulder to see his feet desperately sliding on the wet stone. Most of his weight hangs off of me while he regains his balance. Just when I'm about to try and grab onto him and help, he stands back up on his feet. Almost pushing himself away from me, he takes a few steps back with his palms held up in front of him. The pink has been sucked out of his undertone, his nostrils are flared, and his eyes are wide. He doesn't meet my gaze, but instead looks just below it, around my neck or my collar bones.

   "Sorry! Sorry," he says, muttering the word a few more times under his breath. I take a deep breath before a smile sweeps across my face.

   "No, no, don't worry about it. No harm done," I say.

   "Sorry," he repeats, and clears his throat. Slightly hunched over, he seems tinier than ever.

   "It's alright, really. You don't have to fall before grabbing on, you know," I say, making an effort to sound more gentle than sarcastic. His expression shifts to somewhere in-between a cringe and a timid smile.

   "I'm just happy that nothing actually happened," I continue. His gaze flickers, only meeting my eyes for split seconds at a time. Then he lowers his hands with jerky motions. Instead of letting them drop, he crosses his arms, hands embracing the sides of his torso. My smile falters a little. I step aside and gesture for him to move past me.

   "Go on. If you walk in front, I can help you out easier. If you need it, of course," I say, hand resting on my clammy neck. He finally stares at me with those enormous eyes and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

   "I'd just slow us down," he says. I shake my head.

   "No, no, I think we're walking at about the same pace anyway." When he still doesn't move along, I lower my head slightly.

   "Seriously. It's alright," I say. Without looking at me, he walks ahead with a meticulous gait, still measuring every step before taking it. My chest feels lighter as he does. He walks a smidgen slower than me, but it's a trade-off I can live with, as long as I can keep my eyes on him. When he stops again, I almost gasp.

   "Do you, um..." he starts. A few moments of silence pass before he finds the words.

   "Do you have another one of those hair bands?" he asks, waving his hand around the back of his head. My lips part at the question, and I immediately unzip my shoulder bag and dig into my side-pocket.

   "I just—it's... My hair's wet and dirty and distracting. Annoying. Clings to my face and neck, and..." he explains and trails off while I search. I pull out another hair-tie like a treasure hunter would a precious gem. Still trembling, his fingertips brush against mine when he takes it. We both press our lips together for second, and butterflies flutter in my stomach again. Even against my soggy skin, his hands are ice-cold. I drop my gaze to the treacherous, mountainous ground beneath us while he puts his hair up. By the time he starts walking again, the butterflies have calmed. I look up at his back; when we both have our hair put up in ponytails, I realize that his is more than twice as long as mine.

   As we cross the stony path and his stability is once again secured, a small trail becomes visible through the dew-speckled grass. It's a slight difference at first. It could be an animal trail just as well as one traversed by humanoids. But the further along it we go, the more trampled and flat it gets. Several patches of flower buds and grass are sprouting in the dirt. It follows the river and there are several branches from the main path that fan out towards the water, but there are no tools or constructions alongside it. I rub my neck and trace my fingers along my collar bone as I take it all in.

   Soon enough, the white walls of the settlement emerge out of the fog like a sleeping giant. At this distance, however, the walls aren't as pearly white as I thought. They have many ashen spots along the top where they've weathered, and moss and vines run along the bricks. There are several holes and cracks in these bricks, many of which I can't determine the origin of by a glance.

   "Think anyone's inside?" Hawke says, running his eyes along the walls' length, as I did. I press my lips together with a sigh.

   "That's hard to say. A lot of this looks like it hasn't been maintained for a while," I say. He speeds up to a stride towards the gates.

   "Not years, though," he mumbles, and I pick up the pace alongside him. Rust has seeped through the massive, old metal fastenings on the gates. They're about three times as tall as me and not a sliver of light peeks through their edges. A heavy, plain doorknocker hangs around hip-height on one of them. Licking my lips, I wrap my hands around the cold, rough ring and give it a few loud thumps. The sound resonates through the rest of the metal, but it's still a dull one. The gate has to be rather thick. I put my hands on my hips as unrest settles in my stomach.

   "If someone's there, they've sure as hell heard us now," Hawke says. I can't help but exhale through a smile. We wait with bated breaths. Nothing seems to stir on the other side of the wall. Only the sounds of the raindrops and the occasional rustling of trees remain. After some thirty seconds of avid listening, we turn to look at each other.

   "Think this opens inwards or outwards?" he asks with a pout. I take a glance at the hinges.

   "I'd say inwards." He nods once and places one hand on each side of the gate where they part. He puts all of his weight behind his push. They buckle under the force and slowly open. I hear no locks snap or barriers break on the other side. It only takes him a few moments to get them open, after which he kicks their enormous metal pegs into the soil to keep them in place. My gaze is fixed on him. All the Jedi I know who would make such displays of strength are about twice his size. I'm about to make a jab at this when my smile fades. It feels like I've been punched in the gut and simultaneously constricted – as though a tonne of negative energy poured out of the settlement upon entering.

   "Weird place," he mumbles. I peek around the gates to take a look inside. The village is just as overgrown as its walls. Plants crawl along their facades, and some of the doors and windows are wide open. No light exudes from any one of the buildings. A single abandoned wooden cart stands by the side of one of the houses, but other than that there are no signs of life. None of these houses are taller than one or two stories; they were no doubt residential. The dirt road between the buildings rises along with the terrain towards the middle of the settlement. Up there, a spire looms high over the rest of the village.

   "Anders?" The sound of his voice snaps me out of my scrutinizing. My gaze jerks back to his.

   "What's, uh, what's going on? With you?" he asks. I realize that my eyes are wide and my mouth is hanging wide open. My shoulders are hovering around my ears. I lick my lips, wet my dry mouth, and try to compose myself.

   "Nothing. Nothing at all," I say, tear my eyes away from him, and point at the spire. "I reckon we'll find some answers over in this direction, if anything." He nods with a clenched jaw.

   "Sure. Not like anyone's around here anyway." I march towards whatever building the spire belongs to, but my legs feel like they've turned to jelly. It's as though the ground below us and the house walls are all spiked and the spikes are scratching my skin and puncturing the soles of my feet. A harsh wind blows through the empty streets. Most of the facades have pock marks and light lines running down them. A few of them have similar damages as the walls outside; missing pieces of bricks, cracks, and slits that don't seem to have developed due to the forces of nature. They beckon me to approach and run my hands along them, but at the same time the spikes keep me in the very middle of the street. I can't shake the feeling that there are fingers trailing down my spine and eyes on my back. I focus on keeping my breaths steady and calm, even though it feels like I'm suffocating. All attempts to recite the Code in my head end in failure; this isn't passion or emotion and perhaps not even chaos. Nausea sticks to my throat, and I wet my chapped lips and swallow. It doesn't help.

   "Uh," he says, and his voice makes my muscles jitter. "Tell me if you need a break," he says, and bites down on his lower lip. I look at him fleetingly and nod. It's a short walk up the hill to the building with the spire. Every step of the way, I keep expecting to see ghostly residents in the cracked windows of the abandoned homes. As we reach the top of the hill, the wind picks up. It carries with it cold daggers that only complement the persistent spikes. The spired building looks older than the rest of them. Its walls are adorned with several engravings in the script that I cannot read, not to mention more damages than anything else in the settlement.

   "Looks official. Like a town hall or something," Hawke says. I nod once. Its size and sharp tower makes it all the more looming. I force a deep breath down my throat to calm the chills running across my skin.

   "Does this place feel off to you?" I ask upon exhaling.

   "Sure. Spooky and abandoned. It's weird," he says, looking around. I wrap my arms around my torso.

   "No, I mean, something more than that. Like—Like something's wrong in some way," I ramble. He looks me over with furrowed brows.

   "Force, probably," he mumbles. "Wanna take a look inside?" A sting pierces my stomach at the thought.

   "Not really, but it's not like we have much choice, you know?" I say. He chuckles and looks at me with a small, gentle smile.

   "Whatever happened to all your, uh, eagerness? Your zealous ' _let's get off the planet_ ' attitude?" he asks. My insides hurt once more, and I look down at the dirt ground while he pushes the metal doors open. They creak like cats whose tails were stepped on, and his smile dims as he takes in my expression. The inside of the building looks less like a town hall and more like the command center of a dreadnought. The windows are few and dirty, and are all set far above average human height on the tall walls. We both freeze as we take it all in. The walls are lined with computers and monitors, many of which are broken and cracked beyond repair. In the middle of the room stands a large, deactivated holomap whose edges are chipped and burned. Physical maps are strewn across the floor, alongside empty chairs and tables. All of it is stained with blood. Its colour is more black than it is red at this point. It's spattered across the floor and maps and most of the damages are not without their fair share of splashes.

   Hawke speaks next to me, but I can't make out what he's saying. His words drown in the echoes around us. I can barely sense his aura anymore. It's as if the building itself has an intrusive, pulsating signature. The big holomap draws me in. It might as well have a black hole inside of it. I shamble closer, compelled by its siren song. If I actively tune Hawke out, I can almost pin down the echoes while they ricochet around the room and inside my skull. My vision has blurred by the time I reach the map. I reach out, as though someone guides my hand, and touch its cool surface. Everything becomes clear as day.

   The place is bustling. The holomap is on and I am but one of the few people who surround it. The others are people in uniforms who have sweat running down their temples and are barking orders at each other and the people who are zipping around behind us. Their language sounds familiar, but I can't place it. They jab their fingers at red dots on the map, which shows a larger part of the area I saw on the lookout map as well. The red marks are multitudinous and seem to have surrounded a hollow circle, which must be where we are located. I twist my neck to take a look around.

   Back near the doors, people are rushing in and out in a continuous stream. Hawke is nowhere to be seen. I have no clue where he went. The majority of the crowd look like civilians, but a few people among them are soldiers. Heavy blasters rest in their grasp and they're clad in armour instead of uniforms. Several of them have cracks and holes in said armour, and yet they're still standing. In the corner, a civilian nurse is taking care of one with a particularly severe stomach wound. Helping them is a tall twi'lek clad in beige robes. Stray blood stains bedeck their sleeves and chest. A Jedi, like me. A whole group of them stride through the doors, lightsabers on. They yell something at the commanders around the map, and everyone in the room freezes.

   Then everybody moves faster and ups their pace. My heart rate increases as they do. A Jedi points at the red dots on the map, then moves their finger mere inches away from our position. My stomach sinks. I can't stop staring at it while everyone around me scrambles to send messages and prep their strategies and weapons. Tremors shake the entire building, almost throwing me off my balance. A scream outside deafens the voices of the commanders and soldiers. Everybody's attention shifts to the doors. The room erupts in blaster fire and flashes of light. In mere seconds, chairs and tables have been thrown across the room and blood covers the floor behind me. Blue and green lightsabers clash with red in bursts of purple and yellow light. Shrieks and screams vibrate against the walls. They drown out everything else. It feels like my eardrums are going to burst.

   A cold gasp stabs my lungs as someone grabs my upper arms and yanks my hands away from the desk. Once again, the holomap is covered by a thick layer of dust, the monitors are broken, and the blood is nearly black. My entire body is trembling and my knees buckle under my weight.

   "Easy. Ground yourself," Hawke says, keeping me in his grasp. I hit the ground slowly and gently, and he keeps my back straight against his knee. I run a hand across my sweaty forehead, as he takes off his backpack and unzips it. Then he shoves an open water bottle into my hands.

   "Drink," he says. I try to lift it to my lips, but it feels like the room is spinning. My head is buzzing, and I hold the chilled bottle against my head with shaking hands.

   "I—Did—Did I—" I stammer.

   "Yeah. I felt it too," he mumbles.

   "Shit," I whisper. My own breaths resonate in my head, alongside the blood rushing through my ears.

   "Seriously, drink it. You can cool your head later," he says. I can't hear a single rough edge in his tone. I lower the bottle to my lips and take a few sips. Those sips become gulps and after a dozen seconds I've emptied the bottle.

   "There you go," he says. I moisturize my lips and sniffle. My head feels clearer already.

   "What did you see?" he asks. I can still envision the images in my mind. The nausea threatens to sneak back as I think about it.

   "I... I'm not sure. Some sort of battle," I say. He waits patiently while I scramble to find the words. "There were Jedi. And Sith too, I think. It's like it was some sort of ambush on this place. Or a conquest, more like." A strained sigh escapes my lips. "I don't know."

   "That's okay. Not asking for total certainty," he says. I draw a small, sharp breath, and feel my tense muscles relax a bit.

   "There were a lot of civilians. Soldiers too, and Jedi—Force users, obviously. But a lot of civilians. I think they got caught in the middle," I explain. "Or maybe they were helping. Probably both. I'm not sure, the screams were so loud. I couldn't tell." He sighs quietly behind me. A realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning. Breath stalled, I look around the room that I've already scrutinized.

   "Where are the bodies?" I say. At that, his knee shifts against my back.

   "Good question," he mumbles and grabs my upper arms anew. "Can you stand?" I wiggle my toes and clench my calf and thigh muscles. My knees are hollow, but not wobbly like they were before.

   "I think so."

   "Then come on." He tightens his grasp and I pull up my legs and support myself with my hands on the floor. My rise is slow but steady, his grip never wavering. When I find my balance on my feet, I back away from the holomap console. He lets go with one arm, then the other, and marches towards what could be communications consoles. Like a lone tree in the middle of a storm, I stand in the middle of the room with nothing to support myself on. He mirrors my motions from yesterday. Running his fingers over the buttons, flipping switches, shaking unresponsive machinery. I slump like a deflated balloon as none of the communicators seem to work. He cusses under his breath and strides back towards me, features drawn into a heavy frown.

   "Right. So. What's the plan from here?" he asks. My gaze drops to my feet. No plan forms in my mind. My teeth sink into my lower lip as needles course through my veins.

   "I... I don't know." He closely examines my face with an intense look.

   "This is a perfect place to make camp. Safe and—"

   "I'm not staying here," I say, the words leaping out of my mouth. "I can't." His expression softens.

   "No. Figured," he says. With a deep sigh, he snatches the empty bottle out of my hand, puts it in the bag, and puts the bag back on. Then he heads for the doors.

   "We still have time to find some other place to sleep. Gotta be quick about it, though. The days aren't long," he chatters. As I watch him open the doors and wait for me, my mouth twists into a weak smile.

   "Thanks," I breathe, with a far lighter feeling in my chest. He stares at me for a few moments.

   "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the windy outdoors.


	5. Chapter 5

The pre-sunrise gloom still hangs in the corners of the little cave. The first pale sunrays are visible outside of its opening, through my eyes' morning fog. My toes are freezing. I pull them closer to my body, bending myself into foetal position. A flame sprouts in my gut and I furrow my brows. I'm still not ready to go back to sleep. The occasional scratching and shambling noise from outside our sleeping spot makes it impossible. Just when I shove myself upright, wanting to clear my throat in preparation for a shout, I feel the core of Hawke's energy next to me. I look to my side and focus through the fatigue. He's right where I left him last night, peacefully drooling onto his own hand only a meter from me.

   In that instant, I become wide awake. The loud noises outside are accompanied by low breaths. The following sniffs are reminiscent of those of an enormous bloodhound. They're close enough to make the hairs on my neck stand up. Its aura is huge. Heavy footsteps stalk away from our cave, to the right. A dozen seconds pass, and I can no longer hear the creature. I breathe a sigh of relief that sends shivers through my entire body. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I carefully shake Hawke's arm. When he doesn't respond, I shake him a little harder. My stomach tenses as I do. He shudders and wipes his mouth.

   "What?" he grumbles, pulling his blankets up without opening his eyes.

   "Something's here," I whisper. He then squints at me.

   "What?" he repeats, with a much lighter tone.

   "There's some kind of creature here, it was sniffing around outside," I explain. He bolts upright and stares at the entrance. Just as I'm about to explain further, he closes his eyes momentarily.

   "Shit. That's huge. Can still sense it from here," he says.

   "We have to get out of here," I say, and he nods. We jump to our feet at the same time, scrambling to pack up blankets and cookware and datapads.

   "Think there's more out there?" he asks, struggling to quietly zip his stuffed bag. My blood runs cold at the thought.

   "I damn well hope not," I say. As I once again haul my bag onto my back, the ideas that tumbled around in my head last night resurface. While he peeks out of the cave, still squinting, I take a deep breath and approach him.

   "I think we should return to where we came from. To the crash site," I say. He whips his head back and looks at me like I'd claimed that all moons are made of cheese.

   "Why?" he says, drawing out the vowel.

   "That thing went right, which was where we came from yesterday. I'm willing to bet we can circle around if we go the other way, and end up back where we crashed originally. Which might be our best shot right now. There certainly weren't any damn creatures lumbering around over there, and the crash site might be our best shot at getting found if we can't find any communicators that work," I explain, tongue almost tripping over my words. He glares at me with a wrinkle on his nose.

   "Our best shot at getting found by the Jedi, you mean," he says, venom dripping from his tone. I grit my teeth, but my chest aches with heaviness.

   "I know it's not ideal, but it might be the best chance we've got. At least until we find something else," I say. He stares at the pale rays on the floor with his lips pressed together.

   "Fine. For now," he mumbles. We both peer outside like apprehensive cats. There are no traces of the creature, and I can't catch sight of it down the side of the mountain. Much of it is still covered in a blanket of shadows.

   "Go on ahead," I say with a subdued voice. He nods and jogs to the left. Our eyes and ears are on stalks. Early birdsong resounds against the stone from the tree tops a few meters below us. While soothing, it doesn't make it any easier to listen for potential threats. The path around this side of the mountain is slim. We could walk next to each other if we so desired, but it'd have to be arm in arm to be safe. Hawke is a little bit hunched over, and a soft tremble ricochets through his body. I can stave off the cool morning wind with my hands on my upper arms, and my toes are already beginning to warm. For all I know, his clothes could be less tightly woven than mine. While I try to recall how they felt when I touched them yesterday, we come across a small opening in the mountainside.

   "Hold up," I say, as he almost passes it. He stops immediately and regards me with bright eyes. I peek ahead, beyond our current position. The mountain is dotted with similar cracks and openings. It rounds off a few dozen meters from where we are. With any luck, that's as far as we'll need to go. Additionally, our slim path gets even narrower a couple of meters further down. I stare inside the cavern, and he follows my gaze. It's dark, but not pitch black. Even from outside, in the faint light, I can get a decent sense of the cave's shape. The Force turns that sight from decent to clear.

   "Give me a second," I say, and close my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me as I do. Exhaling deeply, I follow the shape of the cave with my mind's eye. It's no small den like the one we slept in. This cuts deep through the mountain and meets other openings inside like the branches on a tree. Somewhere to our left, I sense the beast. Its aura is far bigger than I first assessed, but I can't pinpoint it. It's as though the mountainside and the tunnels bounce its signature around like an echo. Hawke's energy is as vibrant as ever, shining like a thousand suns right next to me. It quivers with tension and worry. Regarding it alleviates some of the agitation that courses through my body, but it doesn't help me get a better sense of our adversary's position.

   "This is a tunnel," I state. "I think it might lead us out to the other side of the mountain, where we need to go. If we're lucky." He furrows his brows at me.

   "What do you mean, ' _if we're lucky_ '? Can't you sense this sort of thing?" he asks. I press my lips together and swallow involuntarily.

   "I, um—" I massage the nape of my neck. "It's a little overwhelming. All the impressions and such. It's like—It's kind of like they bounce off the mountainside. If that makes any sense," I explain. At that, his expression softens, and he slowly nods.

   "Oh. Alright," he says. "So you're trying to say we should go in?"

   "Pretty much," I say with a sigh. "But I can still sense the beast, I just can't pinpoint its exact location." He turns his head towards the direction we came from with a piercing gaze.

   "Yeah. I can still get a whiff of it, too." I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck.

   "Right, let's get a move on. We have no time to waste." I march ahead with heavy steps, and he trots to my side and matches my pace.

   "We just need to be quiet and careful," I whisper. The Force keeps me orientated, and the tunnels aren't as dark as I'd thought. Hawke, however, makes sure to stick closer by me than he ever has in all the time I've known him. My heartbeat is racing. Despite our best attempts at combining speed and stealth, our footsteps echo against the stone. Through the rebounding impressions, I try to envision the correct path. One seems to curve out of the mountain. I halt at a corner and change directions. Hawke scurries to my side like a baby bird.

   "I think this is the way out," I whisper. He nods frantically. The metaphorical belt around my stomach tightens when the path keeps curving inwards into the mountain. It's almost tight enough to hurt. The images in my head keep twisting and changing. The urge to grab Hawke's wrist is almost overwhelming. We reach something akin to an intersection of tunnels. There's a gap in the roof of the mountain that allows rosy sunbeams to illuminate the gloom inside. Multiple tunnels connect here, branching off in different directions. The beast's signature is near, but I can't tell which cavern it comes from. With my teeth biting my lower lip, I cross the sizeable space between caverns, and near one of the other openings. It should be the right one, if my senses are correct. I can feel Hawke's eyes on the back of my head as he follows me.

   As I cross, I reach the midpoint between them all. To my side, it's as if a small bomb goes off. Energy assaults me. My knees almost buckle. Hawke and I simultaneously turn our heads in its direction. A loud snort reaches our ears. I see it right when it sees us. Hulking body, long fingers with enormous claws, and a square snout flanked by black eyes and a mouth filled with jagged fangs. It's small enough to fit inside the caves, but it's still twice my size. Small for a rancor, large enough to swallow us whole. It turns its bulky body towards us and growls. The sound echoes throughout the cave system and rings inside my head.

   As it takes a step in our direction, I seize Hawke's hand. I spin around, almost twisting his arm. Then I sprint in the other direction. Its roar makes my throat close up. I can feel its footsteps vibrate through the stone. When I reach the mouth of the tunnel, Hawke wriggles out of my grasp. A severe sting pierces my stomach. I might as well have started bleeding. Chills run down my spine. I look over my shoulder and skid to a stop.

   With both of his hands reached out towards it, the rancor's approach has slowed to a crawl. It's as if it's wading through sticky mud. Hawke's hands are shaking. He groans and curls his fingers a bit. The rancor freezes in place. It tosses its head and growls loudly as it struggles. My jaw drops. A different kind of tension bubbles in my body. My feet tickle with energy, and my hand hovers over my lightsaber. I am ready to pounce. Then more pressure constricts me. My nostrils flare and my gaze darts to the other tunnels. Through the energies that rebound through each, one mass shines brighter. It seemed like a part of the rancor's energy, the tail of its aura. But now it's intensifying. Hawke's focus lies solely with the rancor. If looks could kill, it'd already be dead. He inches towards it as it freezes further in his grasp. If he can also sense the irregular aura, it doesn't show.

   I hear it before I see it. Steps whose pace suggest a fast approach. Heavy, ragged breathing. My stomach turns to ice as its frame emerges from the shadows. It's smaller than the first one – perhaps a cub. It rushes towards us. Its mouth is wide open and drool tendrils swing from its teeth. Hawke sees it out of the corner of his eye.

   I make a split second decision. I take off towards him. The rancor and I approach at the same time. It's few meters from us when I leap towards him. As I crash into him, a gust of wind passes us. The beast missed by mere inches. We touch down hard. I can hear the air being knocked out of his lungs. My knees ache from the impact as I hear the smaller rancor slam into the cave wall. I scurry to sit upright on top of him. His mouth hangs wide open and he looks at me with enormous eyes. Butterflies take off in my stomach, and I press my lips together. Darting to my feet, I jab my hand out towards him. He takes it immediately and grabs onto my sleeve. I pull him up with me as I straighten my back. The smaller rancor turns to look at us. The bigger roars and comes straight for us. The butterflies dissolve.

   "Let's go!" I yelp. We dash into the cave behind us, side by side. It should lead to our exit, but my senses are frazzled. He squeezes my wrist as we run.

   "My lightsaber!" he says. "I need it!" Needles sting in my veins. They vanish with my next breath, and I unzip my shoulder bag. I pull out the short lightsaber as though it was made of glass. My fingers linger on its rough metal texture before I hand it to him. He snatches it and clutches it tightly. His entire visage changes. Fire flickers behind his eyes and a smile dances across his lips. We pass many smaller tunnels on our flight, as we stick to the path that leads straight ahead. The sounds of the rancors taper the longer we run. The cavern slowly curves in a direction that doesn't feel right.

   "This way," I say, nodding towards another path. We make a sharp turn and dash in that direction. After passing a few other openings, it becomes a long stretch without any branches. Finally, the passage opens into a large cave. My breath almost gets caught in my throat. There are no other paths. It's a dead end. We skid to a stop in the middle of the room. There, we meet each other's gazes and then look back towards where we came from. The thunderous vibrations advance each second.

   "Alright, what's the plan? Fight to injure, then run?" I ask, panting. With a flick of his wrist, Hawke's lightsaber turns on. Its red beam cuts through the darkness and illuminates one side of his body.

   "Yeah. Kill if possible," he states. I nod and turn on both of my beams. The red and blue lights merge into purple on the cavern floor. Their sounds draw closer. Their black eyes reflect the purple light in the dark tunnel. Sparks crackle at his fingertips. Their teal glow tints the other side of him. The smaller rancor bursts into the cave with a snarl. He thrusts his hand at it, firing off a volley of bright lightning. It squeals and its veins shine through its thick skin. The larger one enters behind it. As it lumbers around its kin, it focuses only on Hawke.

   I seize my opportunity. I dash forwards and leap towards the cliff side. My feet connect with the wall, and I jump again. Just managing to get above the larger rancor, I ready my blade. I swoop towards it and plunge it into its shoulder. My feet slip across its back. Digging my fingers into its nape, I hang on when it shudders and howls. I move my legs out of the way just in time when it slams into the wall to get me off. Below me, the lightning vanishes. Hawke sprints towards the wobbling smaller rancor. He strikes like a thunderbolt. In a flash, he severs its massive hand. It all but screams and stumbles forwards.

   I swing my feet back onto the rancor's shoulders and find my balance. As I run across its back, I drag my lightsaber through it. Adding a spin just before I leap again, I feel its quivering snarl through my foot soles. I jump off of its back and narrowly dodge the claw it brandishes at me. I aim my lighsaber at the smaller one. This time, my aim and balance are shaper. My blade sinks straight into its neck as I land on it. A wet gurgle rumbles in its throat. As it sinks forward, adrenaline stings my stomach.

   I pull out my blade and leap off, preparing to roll when I land. A gust of wind rushes past me, followed by a sharp pain in my side. It knocks me off-course. I clutch my ribs, feeling the gash in my tunic. Instead of landing on my feet, I land on my other side. I roll over and get into a squatting position. The rancor has sunk to its knees with its remaining claws sprawled out towards me. Even through the darkness, I can tell Hawke's bright eyes are fixed on me. His blade's glow emanates out of the belly of the other rancor. It reaches inwards to catch him. Turning his lightsaber off, he dives to the side. He then leaps backwards and dodges another one of its swings. I withdraw my hand from my side. My fingers are wet with a warm, dark liquid. I jab said hand towards one of the large, loose rocks behind Hawke.

   The cave is once again illuminated by blue light. With a shriek, Hawke fires another burst of lightning towards the bigger beast. I sling the stone towards the smaller one. The pressure of the Force makes acid slither through my arm muscles. It hits its head with a crack, and it stumbles backwards into Hawke's thunderous barrage. Their unified wail quakes through the tunnels. Hawke cuts his attack short. In a flash, he's by my side.

   "Let's go!" he shouts, and grabs my bloody hand. Wincing, I rise to my feet with his help. Hand clinging to my side, we make a run for it. Both rancors are staggered as we dart past them. Every breath burns my ribs. Our echoing steps in the caverns make my head pound. We turn down the nearest branching path. After only a dozen meters, we stand at another intersection. A howl tears through the cave system. Tears well up in my eyes.

   "Light!" he whispers. I follow his gaze and narrow my eyes. Down where the tunnel turns, it seems to brighten ever so slightly. We sprint in that direction. Halfway there, I sense the enormous aura behind us move again. My heart is lodged in my throat when we round the corner. At the end of the long, curved tunnel, sunlight shines on the cave wall. I hear Hawke exhale when he sees it.

   "I think it's coming," I say, as we continue our escape. His gaze flickers between me and the light.

   "Just one?" he asks. I shake my head with a wince.

   "I don't know." He blinks at me. We reach the end of the tunnel and rush outside. The sunlight that seemed so weak before now stings my eyes. Bright land stretches out before me. The river runs to our right and loose rock formations sit to our left. The tension in my stomach almost lets up. Then another roar rings through the tunnels. We both turn to look behind us, into the darkness. The movement makes my side ache. My heart skips a beat when Hawke lets go of my hand. Staring at one of the boulders like it insulted his mother, he reaches his hands out towards it. He takes a deep breath, and it slides towards us. I can feel the vibrations from heavy footsteps in my feet.

   "What're you doing?" I ask breathlessly.

   "Covering the hole," he says, voice strained like a wound spring. The urge to run prickles in my knees. He gets the boulder off the ground, sweat trickling down his temple. Its aura approaches like an enormous hammer being swung towards us. Scenarios flash through my head. We run, it follows, we die. We run, we hide, we're trapped. We stay, don't cover it in time, we die. My heart is pounding in my chest. The images of our mangled bodies are clear as day. Snowmelt courses through my veins despite the sweat running down my back.

   My gaze settles on Hawke. I take a step closer. Reaching out my hands towards the stone, I let the Force flow underneath it. He looks at me fleetingly and straightens his back. It glides towards us as if sliding down a snowy hill. The Force convulses, as if we strum a taut string, when our directions differ. We step forwards and away from the cave. It floats towards its opening. As we turn around and regard the tunnel, we see it limp around the corner in there. I grit my teeth. It screeches as it sees us and shambles towards us. Our lift jitters again. The rock nearly covers the cave. Both of us are shaking. The rancor is meters from the entrance. It roars and my ears hurt.

   "Throw it! Just throw it!" Hawke shrieks. I push forwards and the Force blasts into the stone. It collides with the entrance and slams onto the ground. The tremors almost knock me off of my feet. The rancor's screeches muffle behind it. It takes a few seconds before I let myself exhale. Then I put my hands on my knees, one hand clutching my lightsaber while the other is covered in blood. Every breath feels like a rejuvenating gulp of water. I look up at Samuel with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. My blood still clings to his fingers. The painful tightness in my stomach eases with gentle coercion from the butterflies.

   "Do you think that's the only way out?" I ask. He raises his eyebrows once.

   "Doubt it." With a hair flip, he turns away from the covered cavern and marches down the rocky incline. I follow suit with a wince; my side throbs every time I twist my torso. The path ahead of us rises and falls steeply and abundantly. From here, the area where it turns from mountainous to foresty is barely visible in the distance. It's going to be one long march.

   "Are you okay?" he asks, huge eyes looking me over. I scoff through a smile.

   "I'm alive," I say with a shrug that stings. "I'll settle for that right now."

   "Sure you're up for travelling like this?" he says, and shoots a glance back towards the mountain.

   "I'd rather travel in mild pain than risk that thing coming after us again. We need to be at least somewhat gone, right?" I say. He blinks at me and looks ahead. I inch closer to the river as we stride. The air is thick with the scent of foaming fresh water. After checking for any ravenous fish or mud-dwellers, I hook my lightsaber and dip my clean hand in the river. I cup some and pour it over my bloodied hand. The red washes off easily, and I wipe the meager remainders on my pants. Keeping a close eye on me, Hawke mirrors my actions and wipes my blood on his thigh. As I reapproach him, I hold my palm out towards him.

   "Lightsaber, please," I say. He furrows his brows at my hand and then looks at me with enormous eyes and parted lips.

   "What?" he says, after a moment's hesitation.

   "I'd like it back." He scrutinizes my face with the expression of a dog who just realized it's going to be bathed. His grip on the small hilt tightens. I can almost see the millions of tiny cogs turning inside his head. And yet my stomach doesn't quiver with tension. I regard him with my palm held out and weary calm in my body. With his lips pressed together and a wrinkle on his chin, he hands it to me in a series of uneven motions. When he places it in my hand, our fingers touch. He doesn't let go right away. Swallowing visibly, he lets go and retracts his hand in an instant. With a wide smile I unzip my shoulder bag and gingerly put it back inside.

   "Thank you, Samuel," I say. He blinks at me, and we pick up our pace.

   "You seem to be pretty good with it, by the way," I add. He raises his eyebrows.

   "Seem to be?" he asks with a smug tone. I scoff.

   "Must you pick apart even my compliments?" I say and pout. He grins and fiddles with one of his gold earrings.

   "Well, sorry," he mumbles. "Thank you," he says and looks away. I do too, until he speaks again a few seconds later.

   "You too," he adds so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. His cheeks and the tops of his ears have turned pink. A new horde of butterflies take flight in my stomach. I clear my throat and pull out the disinfectant and cotton pads from my bag. I lift up my tunic and try to get a look at my wound. It's long, but not deep. I can't see any bones; it carved through some muscle tissue and my thin fat layer and little else. If it had pierced my lung, I would have known by now. Just the thought makes the hairs on my neck stand up.

   I pour some disinfectant on a pad. With a deep inhalation, I drag the pad across the top of my wound. My entire torso tenses. The burning sensation is almost worse than the rest of the pain combined. Gritting my teeth with a grimace, I continue cleaning. My breaths are quick and shallow, and my pace slows. The burning doesn't subside as I finish cleaning the wound. I wipe off the blood that's run down my midsection and hip while I wait. The fresh air tickles my bare skin. Looking to my side, I notice Hawke regarding me with wide eyes. I raise my eyebrows at him with a wince of a smile.

   "Anything I should do?" he asks. I shake my head at him. After what seems like an eternity of light shaking and breathing through rounded lips, the burning lets up. I ground myself. The water gushes next to me, the wind rustles through lone grass clusters, and our footsteps sound soft on the humid stone. Letting these impressions flow through my mind, I place my hand over the wound. With a light feeling in my chest, I let the Force seep through my fingertips. A cooling sensation envelops the torn flesh and the pain melts away. I connect tissue to tissue and knit through the new blood that oozes out. I keep this up for several minutes, healing layer upon layer.

   When the bleeding has stopped and the majority of the wound has closed, I let my hand drop. A deep fatigue has settled into my bones. I pull out a slightly too large cotton patch from my medicine pouch and try to place it on the cut. My tunic slips back down as I dig up my bandages as well. A groan escapes my throat, and I put the edge of the tunic between my teeth to hold it up. I tense up and stop dead in my tracks when Hawke places his hands on the patch.

   "Just take it off," he says, nodding at my shirt. After gawking at him for a couple of seconds, I press my lips together and pull off the tunic. I wince when I feel the wound open a little. He removes the patch with a jolt. Leaving the shirt on top of my shoulder bag, I let my fingers hover over the gash once more. Just a few seconds of knitting is enough. The stinging subsides, and I can breathe easy.

   "Go ahead," I say, and he puts the patch back on. Chills rush across my skin at his touch. His eyes dart from my face to my chest and back again. Finally, he merely looks to the side, at the river. With my lips pressed together, I wrap the bandage around my chest tightly, and attach it. He lets go, and I slide my damaged tunic back on.

   "Thanks. You're a life saver. Or at least a frustration saver," I say. At that, he smiles. Another genuine smile instead of a smirk or a sneer. I rest my hand on the back of my neck and continue walking.

   "So. Want to finally get some breakfast?" I ask.

   "Please," he says.

 

*

 

I clean the crumbs out of my teeth with my tongue and put the wrappers in my pocket. There aren't many bars left in my bag, but they should last us until we can make another campfire. The aroma of humidity and grass wafts through the breeze. My eyes rest on the woods on the horizon. I can no longer see the smoke from the wreckage, and the cliffside upon which it lies is barely visible from here. A heavy stone settles in my gut.

   "I think we should walk through the night," I say. Hawke narrows his eyes at me.

   "Why?" he says, and nibbles on his single bar.

   "If we're to make it back to the crash as soon as possible, we might as well. And obviously it could be dangerous around here," I explain, gaze not wavering from the woods.

   "As could walking the entire night," he mutters.

   "Yeah, I know. I reckon it's about as dangerous as staying in rancor territory, though."

   "That based on something other than a gut feeling?" he says with a smirk. I exhale through a smile.

   "Well, here's the thing. We were probably lucky to find that empty cave by the crash site, and, to be honest, I doubt anything we could face at night would be more dangerous than a rancor. Unless it's another rancor, of course. But at least we won't be caught off guard this time," I explain. He pouts.

   "I suppose. We'll be bloody tired, though," he states, and puts the rest of his bar in his pocket. I sigh. Already, my shoulders are sore from the bags and my limbs feel heavy.

   "We'll make it. We've had worse, right?" I say with a crooked smile. He returns it, gaze shifting from my face to the ground. As I follow it, his lower leg catches my eye.

   "How's your leg, by the way?" I ask. His eyes widen.

   "Uh. Fine. I think. A bit sore, but not too bad. Obviously," he says.

   "Alright. That's always something." He brushes back a loose strand of hair and licks his lips.

   "Think you could, uh, do something about that? Maybe?" he asks. I can't stop my eyebrows from shooting to my forehead.

   "Oh, yeah, of course. I'd love to," I say with too much enthusiasm. "Hold up, then." I clear my throat and stare down his leg. He stops as if he was a droid that had been ordered to. I kneel down next to him, but I hesitate before pulling up his torn pant leg. He immediately bends down to do it himself. His loose hair strands brush against my forehead, and our heads almost collide. Heat pools in my cheeks.

   "Sorry," he stammers, rolls up his pant leg, and straightens his back. With my teeth buried in my lower lip, I take a look at the wound. It looks like it's several weeks old. I can already envision how the inevitable scar is going to look. Keeping my breaths deep and steady, I place my fingers over the mark. Even through the Force, there's not much to sense. The most I can do is soothe and encourage, while the deep healing works its own magic. I run a few trails of regeneration down the cut.

   "There," I say, and stand back up. "That's the best I can do. It's healed quite nicely, so I can only really encourage your tissue to, you know, keep up the good work." A slight smile flashes across his face before he rolls the pant leg down and continues walking.

   "Alright. Thanks," he mumbles. I jog back to his side.

   "I'll take that as an ' _oh thank you, kind healer, it feels so much better now_ '," I quip. He looks at me with a grin.

   "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he says. I roll my eyes at him. Our path winds through the cliffs like a seesaw. It makes me pant more than once, which isn't ideal for my side. The urge to clutch it is overwhelming, but I know that wouldn't do me any good. Instead, my chest lightens when I look at him. His gait is more regular than mine, now. A little healing here and there is nothing to scoff at.

   "Do you have anyone waiting for you?" he asks, as we trek down a more even slope. I furrow my brows at him.

   "What do you mean?" I ask. He exhales audibly and rubs the back of his head.

   "Any friends? Who might miss you right now? Something like that?" I blink numerous times.

   "Oh, uh... why do you ask?"

   "Just wondering if you have some desperate reason to get off the planet. Besides survival and duty. That illegal?" he sneers. I shrug.

   "I suppose not," I say. "Well, I've no doubt that my master's awfully worried at this point". He snickers.

   "What, your master counts as a friend?" A sting pokes my stomach.

   "Yeah, sure. She's not someone I'd gossip with over holovids late at night, but I'd consider us friends," I explain.

   "Alright," he says with a shrug.

   "What, does your master _not_ count as a friend? Even if they're not someone you'd gossip with?" He clenches his jaw, souring his smile.

   "No." My gaze drops to the ground.

   "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," I say, while pulling it back up.

   "Don't be. Keeps me strong," he says. The embers in my stomach stir. Silence falls for a few moments, while I mull over my reply.

   "At what cost?" I ask, in the softest tone I can manage. He seems to halt for a fraction of a second, before he composes himself.

   "None. It's all I need," he says. I can't help but chuckle.

   "Samuel, that's like saying the sky is green when it's very obviously blue," I say. My fingers immediately touch my lips. He doesn't answer right away, and instead clenches his fist.

   "I'm sorry, all I meant was—" I say, and swallow hard. My brain rummages for words as though its life depended on it.

   "I'm just trying to say that there are much more important things in life than strength, and—and your usefulness, you know? I guess I just don't really get your obsession with it," I chatter. He looks at me with a gaze so piercing, I almost flinch.

   "Fine. Forget I asked," he grumbles, and turns his gaze away again. A harsh sigh forces its way up my throat.

   "No, sorry, I'll, uh..." I take a deep breath that makes my side prickle. "There are a couple of people, besides my master, who would be happy to see me again, for sure. You know, a few other Jedi I grew up with. They're good people," I say. Likewise, he breathes deeply.

   "That sounds nice," he mumbles.

   "Yeah. I suppose it is." I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Oh! And there are some padawans who are probably desperately waiting for that lesson I promised them." At that, he turns to regard me with a much softer mien.

   "You teach?" he asks. I nod vigorously.

   "Yes, and I was going to teach them about the Ataru form next. They were quite excited about that one. I'm no master at it, certainly, but I have to give the people what they want. And they like it flashy," I explain with a smile.

   "Can't blame them," he says with an emerging smirk.

   "No, not really, can you?" I say and chuckle. "Hopefully I can return soon and deliver." He looks at the ground and narrows his eyes.

   "Nobody who _you_ want to see again?" he asks. The sting hits my gut again. It's far fiercer this time.

   "What do you mean? The feelings are mutual, I swear," I babble.

   "Oh. Okay. Just didn't sound that way." My insides quiver and my nostrils flare. It feels like my throat is beginning to swell, and the urge to run bubbles in my legs.

   "Well, uh..." I have to wet my dry mouth before I can string together a sentence. "I do have one really good friend who I'd like to see again. It's been a while since we spoke, but... this just might be a decent opportunity to do so again," I say. My attempts to block out the memories of his face and his lips are more or less successful.

   "Why?" he asks, looking at me with large eyes.

   "Why it's been a while?" I say, unable to keep my voice strong and unwavering. He nods.

   "Well, we just... disagreed on some things. Some pretty important things. It's a long story, really," I say. He shrugs.

   "We've got time," he says with possibly the gentlest tone I've heard from him. I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.

   "That we do," I say, clear my throat, and tilt my head at him. "What about you? Anyone you desperately long to see again? Besides your master, of course," I tease. His smile fades.

   "Why?" he asks. My smile widens.

   "Just curious," I say. He narrows his eyes for a moment, before he looks away. Picking at his fingernails, he seems to search for a place to fix his gaze.

   "No. Not really," he says. Now it's my smile that fades. I lean forwards to get a better look at him.

   "No? No fellow Sith you'd be happy to see? Or any good friends on the side, perhaps?" His nostrils flare and he blinks numerous times.

   "No, I... no," he concludes. My heart feels heavy in my chest.

   "Oh. Well, then..." My brain fumbles to keep the words from slipping out of its grasp. "What about your family? I'm sure they'd be relieved, if they're in the picture," I say. A range of emotional twitches flicker across his face. Tracing his collar bone, he clears his throat.

   "I've been wondering. Do Jedi get to see their families?" I furrow my brows at the question, before composing myself with a single one raised. "I mean, I know you have some sort of academy, so I was just thinking..." he says, trailing off.

   "Yeah, I get what you mean," I say, picking up after him. "We don't usually get to see our families again, after we become Jedi. We might in the future, but at least not while we're younglings or padawans at the academy. Some visits are permitted, but they're quite rare. At least in the academy I'm from," I explain. He blinks at me. "What about the Sith?"

   "Not allowed," he states. He stares straight ahead. My face contorts into an instinctive smile.

   "So I guess we're both left wondering how many grey hairs our parents have these days," I say, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. He doesn't flinch. His expression remains cold and hard. My teeth sink into my lower lip. Taking a deep breath, I try to dodge the images and sensations that dig their way up from their graves in my mind's eye.

   "We kind of got in trouble, my friend and I," I say, taking a deep breath at every pause. "We'd been, uh—" I draw circles with my wrist. "Involved. In the way that Jedi don't approve of." At that, he perks up and focuses his gaze on me. "And we were caught. So we had to deal with the fallout of that. Which involved a whole lot of lecturing and preaching from the Masters and Knights—we were still padawans at the time, you see. And they were already afraid that we were going to fall. To attachment and hate and all that. I thought it was nonsense." I laugh hollowly. "You know, like they were trying to curb and control a good thing. But my friend, he... he took it more seriously. He thought they were right and that we had wronged the code and what the Jedi were all about. So he ended it with me. And I felt like the entire universe had ganged up on me." The sigh I exhale trembles through my torso. "So we kind of parted on less than great terms, and, well, we haven't spoken much since then," I explain. He stares at me like a puppy who's intently trying to grasp something new.

   "The Jedi really aren't allowed to have any fun, huh?" he says. I can't help but giggle.

   "No, I suppose not. Not in that sense, at least. So—" I say, before he speaks anew.

   "What was his name?" I have to moisturize my lips before I make them utter it.

   "Karl," I breathe. He nods with a pout.

   "Karl," he repeats. "I see."

   "He's a good man. But there were things I was just too young and stubborn to understand," I say, voice vacillating. "I tried to escape again shortly after, I recall. I was so fed up with the—" Hawke almost stumbles over his own feet. My muscles tense, making my side ache, after which he catches up to me again. He gawks at me with huge eyes.

   "Escape?" he inquires, voice almost a whisper. I have to compose my own wide eyes before I continue.

   "Yes. It was one out of several attempts, but this was the first time I didn't try to go home. I can't for the life of me remember what that planet I ended up on was called, but I do remember that I went gambling and drinking. I lost a ton of money on it, since I had no idea what I was doing," I say with a chuckle. "But I had a blast doing it anyway. Obviously, the Jedi didn't take well to any of it. Especially not after my previous attempts. Oh man, I'll never forget their faces when they finally found me." I smile widely at him, but his expression doesn't budge.

   "You tried to run home?" he asks. The thought puts a dampener on the warmth in my body from better memories.

   "Yes, I did. Just a couple of times. I thought staying at the academy was the worst thing in the world, you know? Having to be separated from everything I knew. It wasn't, but... that longing was just too strong in me back then," I say. He regards me with enormous, wet eyes. Then silence falls. He doesn't speak and my train of thought has finally slipped through my fingers. Instead, I gaze out at the vast expanse of land around us. The mountainous terrain has finally levelled out a bit. But the jagged hills in the distance reveal that it'll soon become a more vertical experience again.

   Drawing a deep breath, I try to unearth new sentences. I smile at him, while he still looks like a homeless kitten.

   "I suppose that's not what you might expect from a—"

   "I killed my sister," he blurts out with a hoarse voice. My heart skips a beat.

   "What?" I say, without thinking. He doesn't look at me. His pace has slowed to a crawl. I slow down with him. My blood pressure has spiked, and my mouth is wide open. Once again, I find myself scrambling for words.

   "I don't—Why would you—" I splutter.

   "It wasn't—I was—I—" he stammers. He digs his nails into the side of his head. I take a deep, shaky breath.

   "Take your time," I say, as calmly as I can manage. It's as if time has slowed down around us.

   "I don't know where to—how to—" He shakes his head and clutches his throat.

   "You don't have to say anything you're not ready to," I say, but he shakes his head more vigorously.

   "I—" he starts, but swallows hard. "I had run. Run away. I told you. To see them again, to see my family," he says, words rushing out of his mouth. My breath stalls. Needles run through my veins and pierce my gut. If I looked down to see fresh blood, I wouldn't be surprised.

   "But they caught me. Of course. They caught me. The Sith," he says. "Never made it home. So they brought her, my sister. Bethany. They—" He draws a sharp, involuntary breath. "It was just one time." He pauses. He picks at his nails again, but his fingers are shaking.

   "How old were you?" I ask, carefully articulating each word. He presses his lips together and his gaze darts past mine. He's breathless as he mulls it over.

   "I—I don't know. I'm not sure. Been a while. I think..." He shakes his head once more. "Fourteen? Fifteen? No, fourteen. Maybe younger. Around there." I slowly nod.

   "Okay," I whisper.

   "They—they said I had to. That I had no choice. I was a traitor, I had to. I couldn't show that kind of—of weakness in front of them. In front of Jedi. I couldn't. I had to," he says, voice faltering. My chest aches, all the way from my wound to my abdomen.

   "I'm so sorry." It's all I can make myself say. No other soothing words seem appropriate.

   "Anders, you—" he starts, then chews on his lip. "I never said it. Everybody just knew. Everybody knew," he says. I have a hard time seeing the fearsome warrior in him, with his sagging, stiff posture, his eyes fixated on the ground below him, and his hands scrambling for something to hold on to. Were he anyone else, I'd hug him.

   "Thank you for—" I say, but he cuts me off.

   "Sorry. Should've stayed silent," he concludes. His pace picks up, and I'm left scurrying after him. He stays quiet. But his gaze is still bleak, and a tremble remains in his limbs. I get my inner ache under control by steadying my breaths. Then I catch up to him, wet my lips, and keep my eyes on him.

   "You know, I tried to escape once more after what happened between me and Karl. Actually, there was one more time after that, but that's besides the point," I say, and wave my hand as if batting away the unrelated story. "I wanted to go do something more fun than what the Jedi wanted of me. I was still feeling awfully slighted, so I decided to do just that. But the escape itself was... one of my finest, if I should say so myself." He looks in my direction. "We were all meditating, the other padawans and I. So we were all outside, meditating on the soft grass in the early summer breeze, next to this big lake. Quite nice, really. And the point was to get into this very deep, trance-like state, so that we could really connect with the Force. So they were all sitting there, getting into their trance, and I wasn't. I just sat there while everybody else slowly disappeared, so to speak." The gloom on his face slowly lets up as I talk. "Then what does a sly, slippery padawan do? Why, he swims across the lake, of course! So while everybody's completely gone in their trances, I step into the lake and just... swim away. It was bloody freezing, but nobody came after me. Nobody noticed," I say, and fan my fingers out in front of me. "Obviously they hauled me back within a few weeks, but that's a minor detail." His expression has softened. Some of the gloom has let up. Seeing that makes my chest feel much lighter.

   "I could never do that," he mumbles. My zeal falters.

   "No?" I ask, with a careful smile.

   "I'm not a good swimmer," he states.


	6. Chapter 6

The river gushes next to me. Its waters are clear and shiny in the bright noon light. If I could, I'd make the stream stop entirely. I can almost feel its sounds on my skin – which would be red and irritated at this point. The wind rustles through what little grass it can get its claws on. The noise rings through my head. Our every step clicks against the stone beneath us. The sound is like sandpaper to my ears. My brain feels like it might as well be scrambled eggs. If the Force is trying to guide my movements at all, it needs to drown out everything else. And it's not trying hard enough to do that.

   Behind me, Hawke lights another match. Tension lights up my chest and my scrambled brain. It takes several seconds for my muscles to tense from the small startle. I turn around and look at him as he lights his cigarette. His bloodshot eyes and the vacant expression on his face tell me everything I need to know. I turn back towards our path. It's one of the steepest we've traversed yet, and there isn't room for a wide load. Taking my eyes off of it isn't the best idea I've ever had. At least the crash site on the horizon isn't so distant anymore.

   "Anders?" Hawke says, penetrating the wall of white noise.

   "Mm-hm?" I mumble. I have no idea if he can hear me, but he'd likely continue speaking regardless.

   "What if they _won't_ find me?" he says and takes a drag. "What if they just don't care about me and my tracker and aren't coming?" I sigh lightly, and some of the tension alleviates.

   "I said it an hour ago, and I'll say it again: I just don't think that's true. If you have a tracker at all, there's a reason for that," I say. It feels as though I slur my words, but he doesn't comment on it. He shades his eyes from the sun.

   "It's already been an hour?" he asks. The hoarseness in his voice is much more obvious when his tone is lighter.

   "I'd say so," I say, and look up around the sun. It does its best to blind me. "You know, judging by the position of the sun." He follows my gaze, but quickly averts it when he looks at the star. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, despite my attempts to suppress it.

   "Right," he says, drawing out the vowel. "Makes sense." He giggles, as though he just remembered an old joke. I let my lips part and smile with my teeth. He calms down as he takes another drag.

   "Anyway, uh, as I was saying, I doubt you have to worry about that," I conclude with a quick shake of my head. He blinks at me slowly. The path ahead of us narrows. Our proximity to a long drop and a rock-filled river dwindles. I try to tune everything else out and listen to the guiding hand of the Force. But the mere attempt gives me a headache.

   "You have to be careful here. It's really narrow," I say, touching my fingertips to my temple. There's no sign that he's heard me, but I know I spoke loudly enough. My eyes widen as the sun suddenly stops shining in them. I look up to examine the phenomenon. A stone outcropping hangs overhead. It's covered in turquoise vines. Some of them hang freely from it like garlands. The shade feels like a fresh lump of ice in stale water. I can already breathe easier.

   I look back down when my foot slips. It caught an outcropping rock at a bad angle. I try to lean away from the river, but I keep slipping. My foot threatens to drag me with it. My legs follow it down. Then my abdomen. Lightning shoots through my insides. I try to grab on to the edge. I miss the outcrop. I hurt my nails on the hard surface. Gravity sinks its claws into me. My breath stalls as I plunge towards the bottom of the chasm. I hear Hawke shriek. I can't tell what he said. There's only one thing on my mind; don't land on a rock.

   The impact knocks the air out of my lungs. My ribs ache. My injured side is on fire. My vision blurs as the waves consume me. It's like being plunged into ice. All of my muscles tense. Water enters my mouth. I do not swallow or breathe. My limbs are being pulled. Both towards the bottom and in another direction. The world has become a fog of blue and grey. My shoulder scrapes against something and I tense again. The weight of my backpack drags me down. Its straps dig into my aching torso.

   My stomach sinks as I drop again. It almost makes me sick. The water follows me. I catch glimpses of the world above. I might be upside down. It dawns on me that this is a waterfall. I try to force my hands up to cover my head. I make it just in time for the impact. It hits my shoulders and upper back the hardest. I must have flipped again. Once more, I can feel the bag dragging me down. My head is buzzing. The pressure in my lungs is crushing.

   Finally, I can focus enough to make out the sunrays in the waves. I claw at the water to rise. I kick my feet in futility. I twist and turn in the fierce waters that carry me along. My fingertips touch the air above me. I kick and claw my way up. My lungs feel like they're going to burst. I breach, spit out water, and immediately draw breath. Oxygen shoots through me. I try to blink out the water in my eyes. Panting, I struggle to stay above the surface. I can't sense or feel where I am anymore. Everything is so loud.

   I only get to take a few more gulps of air. Then my lower body crashes into a rock underneath the surface. My balance is tipped. I'm on my back again and my bag capitalizes. The water closes over me. I'm already itching to get up and get out. I can feel myself trembling. My face has contorted into a grimace. Just as my bag hits the bottom, the pull increases. I slam my hand onto the bottom and feel the edge as I slide over it. I brace again. But my fall is stopped short with a yank. Pain shoots through my ankle. A scream rips through my throat. Nothing but air comes out. I clasp my mouth and nose with my hand to stop it. Water gushes over me. There's no end to it. It and the bag and gravity itself all drag me down like enormous weights. My foot is all that prevents the drop.

   I close my eyes. Hand still in front of my mouth, I tighten my abs. Against the forces of nature, I pull up my torso to reach my foot. My stomach is already quivering. I barely have the strength for it to begin with. I search around my foot with both hands. My ankle is caught between two outcrops. I couldn't feel it through the pain. I try to move the rocks. They're immobile. My fingers still hurt. Then I place my other foot on the edge. I push outwards and try to slide my ankle up at the same time. I almost gasp when I get loose. My plunge resumes at once. I brace just in time. This fall is shorter than the last. My back takes the brunt of the force again. The pain is lighter this time. But even more air is knocked out of my lungs.

   The pull on my limbs is no longer vicious. Now it's like a gentle hand leading me along. I open my eyes and look around. I can see the sun dance on the surface above me. I claw with my hands and kick with one of my legs. The other floats like a useless appendage. I gasp deeply when I reach the surface. I can barely keep my head above water. My bag is too heavy. My leg hurts too much to help stay afloat. My lungs are on fire. I wipe the water out of my eyes with my wet fingers. At last, I get a blurry look at my surroundings. The river and waterfalls seem to have flowed into a lake. Or just a larger river. I can't tell. My ears are ringing and my head is heavy. Then his voice reaches me.

   "Anders!" The sound of my own name rouses me. I toil to turn my head towards the sound. I catch sight of Samuel just in time to see him shrug off his backpack on the nearby shore and dash into the water.

   "Anders!" he screams again. I've never heard him that shrill before. He reaches his hands out towards me. A different pull takes hold of me. It breaks the stream and carries me towards him instead. I can finally relax somewhat. I just try to keep my head above the water. Soon I can hear his movements in the shallower water. I tense when he grabs my sore shoulders. His warm hands give me the chills.

   "I got you! I got you!" he pants. The water reaches his hips, and he drags me further ashore. As the water recedes and I feel the rocky bank underneath me, I groan. My entire body stings. The waves lick only my boots when he sets me down. He rushes to my side and stares at me with huge eyes.

   "Anders?" he says, eyes rapidly searching my face. I cringe as my ankle throbs.

   "Fuck," I mutter. He exhales sharply and his features soften.

   "Are you okay?" he asks. I cough up specks of moisture and grit my teeth.

   "No. I'm fucking not." He presses his lips together into a fine line and wraps his fingers around my shoulders.

   "Come on. You gotta sit up," he says. He supports me while I tense my abs and try to shift my balance. Acid courses through my muscles. My side still stings. The backpack drags me down, even on the surface. He quickly gets up and moves behind me. With careful movements, he eases the bag's straps off of my shoulders, then my arms, and then my hands. Every time I cringe, he pauses, gives me time to compose myself, and continues with even gentler hands than before. As he tosses the bag onto drier land, my lightsaber almost gets caught in a strap. I freeze as daggers run through my veins. With trembling fingers, I tear it off its hook and take a look at it. A small column of smoke rises from it. I can hear its sizzling over the ringing in my ears. My throat nearly closes up. I hold it out in front of me and press the switches. Nothing happens. Frantically, I press them again and again with the same result. Tears well up in my eyes. My chest feels like it's going to burst. Meditation mantras run on repeat in my head. I recite the Code under my breath. It only makes the flames in my stomach erupt into a pyre.

   "No, no! Dammit, no!" I shriek. Hawke whips his head around to look at me.

   "What? Are you in pain?" he asks. I tighten my grip on my lightsaber and clutch it against my chest.

   "Yes, I am, I fucking am!" I shout at him. His hands hover over me as if he doesn't know where to hold on.

   "My bloody side is hurting! The wound opened back up, knowing my fucking luck!" I have to pant between each sentence. "My ankle got stuck so now that's aching, and now my fucking lightsaber—" My breath gets stuck in my throat and I cough again. He stares at it with a wrinkle between his brows.

   "Fried?" I nod.

   "Of course it is. Of course it's fucking fried," I whisper. If I raise my voice again, I won't be able to keep the tears at bay.

   "Why can't I just catch a break?" With a small sigh, he reaches towards my shoulder bag's strap and eases it off. His nostrils flare when he gets a hold of it a brushes off the droplets.

   "It's waterproof," I say. "Yours is—it's fine." He looks at me fleetingly, before he puts it on. His fingers twitch as they hover over me. Finally, he balls them up into fists and gets up.

   "It's okay to cry," he says, with a shaky voice. Then he strides towards the bag behind me. My stomach remains tense for a dozen seconds. Then the Code evaporates from my awareness. I sputter as tears burst from my eyes. I can barely breathe as my sobs make my chest tremble. My vision blurs anew. I lower my head. I only hope that he cannot see my face. The warm tears stream down my nose. They pool at my nose tip and drip off one by one. The sobs rock through my sore body. It's as if the hurt consumes me.

   Behind me, I hear Samuel pull off his boots. I wipe my eyes on my wet sleeve and look back at him. He turns one boot upside down, and water trickles out of it. With a small sigh, he repeats the motion with the other. He sticks his feet back in them with a scrunched up nose. Without lacing them back up, he kneels down next to the drenched backpack. He pulls out the soaked blankets, the sizzling datapad, and a food package that's burst. I whimper and feel new tears hang from my eyelashes.

   "It's all ruined, isn't it? I ruined it," I say, voice thick and croaky. He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

   "Oh, shut up," he grumbles. "Blankets can be dried. Most of the food is fine. Doesn't matter," he says. I drop my gaze to the patch of rocky shore between us.

   "It's still my fault. All this trouble. Everything that did break," I say. He clenches his jaw.

   "No. Not like you did it on purpose." He picks up one of the blankets and wrings it. A waterfall of water pours out from it. When he regards me again, his gaze seems milder.

   "Just try to heal or something, instead of berating yourself. That gets us nowhere," he says. I bite into my lower lip. My head still feels like it has a droid sitting on it. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. This time, I let the Code stay out of my meditation attempt. Just the thought of it feeds the pyre in my gut. After a dozen concentrated breaths through rounded lips, my sobbing is finally under control. My cheeks are still warmer where my tears have made trails, but the new ones merely cling to my eyelashes. My heart feels as heavy as the rest of my body, as I hover my hand over my side. It has reopened, but nowhere near as much as the pain would suggest. Considering that the rest of my body feels like it's been mangled by a sarlacc, the ruse is unsurprising. I only need to pour a sliver of the Force into my wound for it to close again. The burning sensation subsides with it.

   I focus on the rest of my body before taking care of my ankle. I am a bundle of strained, overworked muscles, but I sense nothing more serious. My ankle was less lucky. A bubble of relief floats through my torso when I sense that it isn't broken. It is, however, sprained. I take a few deep breaths. Then I hover both hands over the ankle and let the Force seep into it. I carefully knit the partly torn ligaments back together. The process leaves my ankle feeling almost numb. Much of the tenderness subsides as I soothe the swelling. The cool sensation sends chills down my spine. In the end, most of the pain has melted away. With a deep sigh, I rub the lingering tears out of the corners of my eyes. Just as I'm about to ask Samuel to help me up, I notice him standing over me. He reaches his hand out towards me. I grab it with my heart in my throat.

   My journey to my feet is jagged and uneven, despite his help. I inhale sharply through gritted teeth when I put my weight on the injured ankle. Tendrils of pain perforate my shin. He tightens his grip on my hand and my arm.

   "You okay?" he asks, gaze fixed on my ankle. I tilt my head from side to side.

   "I don't know. It still hurts like hell, to tell you the truth," I say. He scoffs through a crooked smile.

   "Probably shouldn't be walking on it yet."

   "Yeah, no kidding," I say, without a shred of humour in my voice.

   "Can you at least stand up straight?" he asks. With my lips pressed together, I try to find my balance properly. I can rest just fine on my other foot, despite my sore muscles. But the bad ankle prickles when I stand up like usual.

   "Yeah, but it feels weird. It doesn't hurt, thankfully, but I don't think I want to put any more weight on it," I mumble. He purses his lips.

   "But you _can_ walk?" I hesitate and blink a few times before answering.

   "I think so, yes," I say, while the buzzing in my foot harmonizes with that in my head.

   "Do you want to dry off before we go? Still have a dry blanket in the other bag," he says. I shake my head. He nods, lets go of me, and returns to the discarded backpacks. I clumsily turn to look after him. While he dries off the items and puts them back in the bag one by one, I test my ankle. There's no way I can put all of my weight on it. As soon as I shift my balance, the pain doubles back on me. He slings the large backpack on and tucks in the blankets between the straps. They're still dark with water, but they no longer drip every fifth second. My lips part as he puts on the smaller backpack as well. His small silhouette is almost buried underneath all three bags.

   "Samuel, you really don't have to carry all—" I say, but he silences me with a gaze and a furrowed brow.

   "Sure I do," he says, as he approaches me again. When he's about a meter from me, he stops. He takes a deep breath with briefly closed eyes.

   "How should we do this?" he asks. Through my brain's fog, I can't figure out what he means.

   "What?" I say. He presses his lips together and his gaze darts to the side.

   "Saw you wincing. If you can't walk properly, then..." He trails off and draws circles with his wrist. It finally hits me. As it does, butterflies crack open in my stomach. They have more energy than I do in my attempts stifle them. It feels like they're going to flutter through my entire body. My mouth curls into a sheepish smile.

   "I could just hop on your back. I wouldn't stand out among the rest of your luggage," I say with a small shrug. He clenches his jaw. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

   "Awfully chipper for someone who almost drowned," he mutters. A snort substitutes my laughs.

   "Right. Sorry," I say. He steps closer and holds his hands up in front him. His fingers jitter slightly.

   "So... would it be smarter for you to just grab onto my shoulder, or do you need to lean on me somehow?" he says. Standing so close to one another, I become exceedingly aware that his height only reaches my chest. He twitches when I place my hand on his shoulder.

   "My guess would be the former. At least to start with," I say, though my voice feels breathless. He nods several times and turns towards our original direction.

   "Right. Okay. Then let's—" I grab his other shoulder, and my stomach stings.

   "No, hold on," I say. He turns towards me again. My cheeks heat up. I can almost imagine my instructors shaking their heads at me. He looks at me with wide eyes.

   "What?" he asks, as he studies my face. I regard him with a smile that can't settle on an intensity.

   "Come here," I say. I gently pull him into a hug. I tuck my hands in between the bags and his back. His entire body stiffens in my grasp.

   "I didn't even get to say thanks. You... you really saved my ass back there. So thank you. So much," I say in a voice that's almost a whisper. He doesn't relax. His shoulders remain up around his ears. My teeth sink into my lower lip, and the stinging in my stomach almost wipes out the butterflies. Just when I'm about to let him go, he raises his hands to my back. His fingers are completely rigid, but he seems to lean into me just a little bit. Then he pats my back.

   "Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure. Anytime," he says breathlessly. "You're really, really wet." My eyes widen.

   "Aw, shit," I say and immediately take my hands off of him. He backs away from me like a wet cat. I have to suck on my lips to contain my smile. His face has turned bright red. The red hue reaches even the top of his ears. He clears his throat without looking at me, and once again turns to face towards the crash site.

   "Right. So. Just, uh, do what you will," he says, and purses his lips. He remains stoic when I put my hand on his shoulder anew.

   "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

 

*

 

Despite the sun setting behind the trees, the cold has yet to settle in. The campfire in our small cave wards it off. The ashes and stones were left over from our old one, so it's risen from its own ashes. While the soothing balm of healing still lingers in my ankle, I rest it on the bags we've stacked. Letting out a deep sigh, I pull up my dry blanket. Hawke took it upon himself to use the ones that are still a little humid. The fire will keep up warm under them. I lay my eyes on the wet clothes we propped up with sticks as close to the heat as possible. Our boots lay a safe, but toasty distance from the flames as well. With any luck, it'll dry up during the night.

   The crackling of the fire is like a soft pillow to lay my head on. The ringing in my ears has finally stopped, and a snug, fuzzy feeling simmers in my gut. Once we've eaten, I'll be more than ready to settle in for the night. Every time I move my torso, I become aware of the coarse fabric that clings to my body. What looked loose and flowing on him is almost too tight on me. But it's dry, unlike my own shirt, so I'm not one to complain.

   On the other side of the campfire, he peels off his black pants. Their sticky sounds betray that they're still wet. He strings them up on a stick next to the other drenched clothes, leaving him only in short leggings and a tight, long-sleeved undershirt. As I take in his form, I get a lump in my throat that I can't swallow. I could tell that he was small underneath the robes, but he's even thinner than I thought. I hadn't expected to be able to see his ribs through his shirt. But most of all, my gaze is drawn to his scars. It's not just his face that looks like it's been glassed regularly. Many different kinds pepper his skin. Some have the telltale cauterized edges of lightsaber wounds. I have a few of them myself, and those aren't stories I enjoy telling. Others look like simple lacerations or puncture wounds. The scars that are only just visible under the edge of his tights differ from the others. They're all quite clean cuts, made with the same weapon and from the same angle, and they look weirdly systematic.

   I avert my gaze to the flames as he approaches again. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he sits down next to me and draws his blanket up over his legs. His gaze is distant, as though he's looking beyond the fire and the stone. He puffs often and deeply. It's like he barely recognizes my presence. The silence between us reeks of tension. With another drag, he's left with only the butt of the cigarette. He tosses it into the flames with a sigh and runs his fingers up the shaved side of his head. With a dry mouth, I tilt my head to get a better look at him.

   "Are you alright?" I ask softly. His gaze snaps to mine. He takes in my expression, presses his lips together, and rubs the back of his head. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't seem to find the words. Just when I open my mouth to ask again, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

   "I need my lightsaber," he says. I let my mouth hang open. I hurry myself into a proper sitting position.

   "What?" I ask. He narrows his eyes and a wrinkle creeps up his nose.

   "Why?" I add, which makes him turn away again.

   "I just do." I uncomfortably lean forwards to look at him.

   "No, you don't get to just say that. I need to know why," I say. With a groan, he rests his head on his fist. His nails are digging into his palm. I swallow and arm myself with patience. After a dozen seconds, his grip lets up.

   "Please," he mumbles. I chuckle once.

   "That's not a magic word, Samuel," I retort, before he almost interrupts me.

   "Need the tracker gone," he says with a huskier voice than usual. I blink several times.

   "Wait, what? How come?" He clenches his jaw and his gaze darts all over the floor before he replies.

   "Useless. It's useless. No reason to have it when it doesn't do anything for me," he says, scratching his cheek.

   "But—" I say, when he speaks again.

   "Just some kind of useless appendix. Just a burden," he adds, as if he has to rush the words out of his mouth. My heartbeat has picked up. The fuzziness in my stomach has turned solid.

   "Don't want it," he concludes.

   "And you need your lightsaber for that? For removing it?" I ask. He groans and shoots me a piercing look.

   "It's an implant," he growls. "What else would I do?" My eyes widen and my stomach freezes over, as I realize what he's implying.

   "You can't just do that!" He scoffs at me. "That's—that's really dangerous! You could seriously hurt yourself!" His scowl merely intensifies.

   "So what's your fucking genius suggestion?" he mutters. I swallow hard. No matter where it's located, it's too dangerous for him to do it alone. I can already envision him burning off a limb when pain overwhelms him. I made the mistake of not bringing a sharp knife. Carving up lizard meat with a lightsaber was less than ideal as well. I could potentially pull the tracker out using the Force. But that could also pull apart more skin than intended. I can deal with a burn wound, but something bigger would be more dangerous for him. Thus, the only real tool we have is his lightsaber. If I were the one to wield it, the odds of collateral damage might decrease. I lick my lips. Icy needles rattle in my veins. Taking my foot off its elevation, I scoot closer to him.

   "Where is it?" I ask, in a gentler tone. His lips part as he mulls over my words. Then he places his fingers on the back of his head.

   "Here," he whispers. I gingerly lay my fingers on top of his. He lets his hand fall. The fine hairs on his neck stand up at my touch. Indeed, I feel a small, hard square just underneath his skin. It's right above the side of the occipital bone. I sigh deeply, and my stomach quivers. I grab my shoulder bag, unzip it, and slowly draw out the lightsaber. When he reaches out his hand towards it, I shake my head.

   "I'll do it," I say. He presses his brows together.

   "No," he says, maintaining eye contact.

   "Samuel, it's way too dangerous to do on your own. You can't even see back there. One wrong move and you slice into your own brain," I say. At that, his intensity falters. He stares at the flames and nods once.

   "Okay?" I ask. He nods again, with more conviction. I wet my dry mouth and carefully put the lightsaber down next to me. I pull out my disinfectant, cotton pads, and one of my last cotton patches. Shoving away the bag, I position myself behind him. I pour some disinfectant on a pad and wipe it across the surgery area. He jerks away from my touch.

   "What is that?" he snaps. I hold up both of my hands, including the pad.

   "I'm just disinfecting it first," I say, as calmly as I can. At that, he presses his lips together and looks away again.

   "Sorry. I should've told you," I mumble. He doesn't answer. I finish cleaning and toss the pad on top of my bag. I stare at the lightsaber beside me. Licking my lips like a nervous dog, I pick it up. My breath almost stalls as I run my thumb over the switch. The urge to just drop it is paralyzing. I swallow hard and turn it on. My heart beats harder when the bright red beam emerges. I give it a few careful twirls. He watches closely out of the corner of his eye. It's a light, maneuverable blade.

   "Just do it," he whispers. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I angle his head down. I hold the blade up between us. Its red glow illuminates the back of his skull. My heart is hammering in my throat. I have to fight to keep the blade still. Any moment now, my palms will get sweaty.

   "I'll be as quick as possible. Whatever you do, don't move your head backwards," I say. He hums hoarsely in agreement. His breathing is shallow, and his shoulders are stiff. I breathe through rounded lips.

   "Here we go," I whisper. I touch the tip of the blade to his skin. He draws a sharp breath. His body twitches. He slams a hand onto my leg. The sizzling noise is enough to make my stomach churn. A whine escapes his throat. His nails dig into me. The image of the crushed railing flashes through my mind – the imprints his fingers made in it. I hold my breath and focus. He's trembling in my grasp. The smell of burnt skin glides into my nostrils. I turn the lightsaber off. He draws breath like he'd been drowning. He doesn't let go of me. I peer at the wound. The outer layer of skin has burned off. Beneath it sits a small, black chip. Its surface has melted slightly. I put the lightsaber down. I don't know how thick the tracker is. If I try to burn though it, I could hurt him needlessly. I edge around him to look at his face. His eyes are pressed shut and his face is contorted into a deep grimace.

   "I can see it, so I'm going to try to pull it out," I say. My voice is shakier than I expected. His reply is another whine. I quickly douse my hands with disinfectant. Swallowing hard, I place my fingernail on the edge of the chip. I have to dig it in a little to get a good grip. Nausea slithers up my throat. He whimpers and tightens his grip on me. Heat radiates off the chip. I hold my breath, place my thumb on it, and pull. I pull for one second, then two, then it lets go. The sticky noise its release makes almost makes me gag. I turn it between my fingers to avoid burning myself. The wound it left behind is red, bloody, and clean. There are no leftovers, and no damage that isn't superficial.

   "It's out!" I say. A sliver of tension leaves his body. He holds his trembling palm back towards me.

   "Give it here," he stutters thickly. I hold it over his fingers.

   "It's hot, so—" I say, before he snatches it. He twists and turns it between his fingers. He snaps it horizontally, then vertically, pulls it apart, and flings the pieces into the flames. They pop and crackle in the heat. A sense of relief washes over me.

   "Feeling better?" I ask gently. He sniffles, but I can't tell if he's nodding or just quivering.

   "Okay then. I'm still going to need to clean and dress this wound, though," I say. A shaky sighs rocks through his body.

   "Make it quick," he says. "Gonna snap if this keeps up." I ready another disinfectant pad.

   "You might want to grab on while I disinfect this, then. I think my thigh is going to be green and blue for the rest of the week," I say.

   "Sorry," he mutters, and shifts his grasp closer to my knee. He cusses under his breath as I wipe the fresh wound, but only presses down on me once. It's with a small smile that I pull out my web mesh from my bag. My neurotic packing habits have come in handy. The little mesh acts like a synthetic layer of skin while it's attached, but it was too small for the other wounds we've accumulated thus far. With that calm in my gut, healing his head is a piece of cake. Under my hovering touch, he finally relaxes. His breaths turn deeper and steadier. The bleeding stops, and a new, raw layer of skin has formed. I've managed to make the burnt edges around it a little less gnarled. I place the mesh on the wound and attach it. It blends into his skin like a spider's web in twilight. Then I stick a small cotton patch on top of it. With a sigh, I stuff my gear back into my bag. His lightsaber gets to rest on top of it. I jump in place when he puts his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him, and he's looking straight at me.

   "Thank you," he whispers, with misty eyes. My cheeks immediately catch fire. I try to control my sheepish smile.

   "Uh, anytime. I'm just glad I was here to do it," I say, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The butterflies are fluttering so hard, it feels like my entire body is vibrating. He takes in my expression and grins. It's as if his gaze gets warmer. With a squeeze, he lets go of me, and turns back towards the campfire. I scoot back to my blankets and throw my foot up on the bags. After healing it again earlier, it almost feels normal. If I put in another session tonight, I could potentially walk on even land more or less painlessly in the morning. My movements halt when my stomach growls.

   "Now, I do believe we've earned some dinner," I say. He picks at his fingernails. He has not stopped shaking entirely yet.

   "I guess," he says. I have to put my foot back on the ground to open the humid bag full of food.

   "Thought you were supposed to keep that thing at rest," he quips. I raise my brows at him.

   "Well, someone certainly is feeling better," I say. He turns away with a smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes. I can't help but chuckle. I procure two food packets and open the other bag to get the pan and the dented bowl.

   "But, well, what can I say. I guess I'm just too impatient to sit still so much. And too hungry," I say. I finally get a hold of everything I need to cook – or at least to heat our meal.

   "I'll throw yours in first, okay?" I say, while looking for the opening on one of the packets. He presses his lips together.

   "You don't have to," he says. I pause my fiddling.

   "Well, sure I do. You need some nourishment on top of that ordeal you just went through, right?" I say, putting my bedside manners to use. He shakes his head without looking at me.

   "It's fine." With a pout, I let the packet drop into my lap.

   "Okay. So you're feeling better, but not great," I say. The statement makes a strained sigh escape his lips.

   "Does it still hurt? Badly?" I ask. He merely shrugs.

   "A little. Doesn't matter," he mumbles.

   "Then what does?" I say. His eyes are glazed over. Once again, he's not entirely present.

   "Just wondering if I doomed us," he says. I furrow my brows and blink a few times.

   "I reckon we aren't any more doomed than usual, no." He smiles briefly. "Why would we be?" He shakes his head a little and gestures at thin air with his hand.

   "By destroying the chip." I can feel my gaze harden as his words settle in my mind. My chest tightens with tension. I try to shrug nonchalantly.

   "I distinctly remember you saying that the Sith should've been here by now, anyway. I assume that hasn't changed," I say. He supports his forehead on the palm of his hand.

   "I don't know anymore," he whispers. At that, the tension in my gut changes into a heavy ache. With my hand on the nape of my neck, I take a deep breath.

   "Samuel, listen to me." He looks at me for a moment, like he's trying to force his gaze to meet mine. "I might joke about it a little, but I don't believe we're going to die here. I really, really don't. Even without a tracker that might not have been working anyway. One way or another, we will get home," I say. Only a small sting pierces my stomach as I speak. His expression seems to soften. He hums in speculation and continues picking at his fingernails. Just as I continue my attempt to open the food package, he clears his throat.

   "So what're you gonna do once you get home?" he asks, with a more jovial tone. The thought warms my insides. I click my tongue against my teeth before I answer.

   "I think, first and foremost... I'm going to get bloody wasted. Which my masters and peers certainly won't approve of, but that's not really my problem at this point," I quip. He giggles lightly, without a shred of mockery. The fuzzy feeling returns full force.

   "Sounds like a plan," he says through his laughing.

   "I know, right," I say, then sigh. "Afterwards, though, I'm probably going to be tested in some way. I highly doubt the rest of the Jedi are going to be particularly comfortable with all the time I've spent by your side. Knowing them, they'll probably want to make sure that I haven't ' _fallen to the dark side_ ' in some way," I explain. His smile fades a little.

   "Sorry about that," he mutters. I wave my hand at him with a limp wrist.

   "It's fine, they'll figure it out. I'll be okay." I smile at him, and he returns it and fiddles with his gold earrings.

   "What about you?" I ask. "Any booze in particular you've been missing?" He clenches his jaw, souring his expression somewhat.

   "No. Nothing like that," he says. I tilt my head at him.

   "Then?" He presses his lips together and seems to shift in his hard seat before answering.

   "They'll test me too, somehow. No doubt. Haven't killed you, and they're not going to be happy about that," he says slowly, as though weighing each word before uttering it. My stomach turns heavy and cold. Silence falls between us, while I desperately scour for words. I clear my throat.

   "Well... For what it's worth, I'm really glad I got to know you instead, Samuel. It's been a pleasure, actually. More so than I could've imagined," I say, with the gentlest tone possible. His eyes widen.

   "Oh. Uh..." I can tell the cogs are turning inside his head. He stares at me, blinks several times, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

   "Thank you," he says, as though the words are foreign on his tongue. Then he smiles. It's a warm, genuine smile that lights up his face like nothing else has for the past day.

   "You too," he adds. My lips part. He turns his gaze back to the campfire. My face heats up. As does the rest of my body. My heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. The butterflies are fluttering throughout my entire being. They cloud my thoughts. I can envision my Master breathing down my neck. The disapproving looks of my peers would be piercing. None of it matters. It's like there's a black hole inside of him. It pulls me in and it's useless to resist. I stare at his grey eyes. The flames reflect in them. This might be my only chance.

   I shift closer to him, and put my hand on his shoulder. He looks at it, and then looks at me. I lean in. Our lips collide. I close my eyes. I feel his exhalation on my upper lip. He tenses underneath me. His breath has stalled. I lean in further. Kiss him a bit harder. His lips are chapped and dry. He doesn't kiss back. He doesn't pucker his lips or lean into me. My heart gets stuck in my throat. I can hear its desperate beats in my ears. Slowly, I pull back and open my eyes. His are enormous and fixed on me. The colour has drained from his undertone. I exhale sharply. It feels like I've been stabbed in the stomach.

   "I—I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I say. I let go of him and shuffle back to my blankets.

   "Shit, I'm so sorry. That was—I was out of line, I'm sorry," I chatter. I rub my dry eyes. My gaze has dropped to the ground. I grab my greasy hair and run my fingers through it, pulling out several strands on the way. I resume my fidgeting with the food packet.

   "Shit," I whisper. My entire body twitches when he lays a hand on my cheek. I hold my breath and look up. He's right in front of me. He leans in and our lips meet anew. My eyelids slide shut. The tension evaporates with a single breath. His touch is gentler than mine was. I instinctively wrap my arms around his slim waist. He puts his free hand on my other cheek, holding my face in his grasp. Our noses squish together. He pulls back, tilts his head slightly, and kisses me again. Chills dart down my spine. I can smell the lingering scent of sweat and water on him. Our lips part at the same time. I let him in. Our tongues carefully caress. He presses his torso up against mine. He tastes of smoke and rust. His tongue is soft, unlike the calluses on his hands.

   He pulls back and instead places a kiss on my jaw. Then another, further along my jawline. I arch my back under his touch. One of his hands slide down my back. My breath grows shallower. He places kiss upon kiss across my jaw, then down my neck. I stretch it in harmony with his lips. I feel my thighs and rear tighten. Electricity tingles through my lower body. Then my stomach stings. My eyes fly open. I swallow hard. Though there are none, I feel like there are hundreds of eyes on us. Putting my fingers between him and my neck, I try to clear my head.

   "Please, don't. It's too much," I breathe. He looks up at me, cheeks aflame, with a wrinkle between his brows.

   "Sorry," he whispers. He places a kiss on my cheek instead. The pain in my stomach mellows slightly. A smile spreads across my face, and I turn my head to meet his lips again. Our kiss is deep and soft. I pull back and he tries to follow me, before he sits up straight as well. I tuck stray strands of his hair behind his ear, and brush my finger across his cheek. I run it along one of his deeper scars. He slowly blinks at me. He puts his hands on top of mine, and we let them drop into our laps. His hands are so small compared to mine. He gives them a squeeze. I lift one of them and place a kiss on his scarred knuckles. At that, he smiles widely, and the red hue of his face intensifies. With a sigh, he crawls over next to me. Our gazes linger for a moment, before he looks back at the fire. He doesn't let go of my hand. I let my gaze drop, only to realize that I'd all but forgotten about the food packet in my lap.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last chapter has arrived! It was caught in a spiral of bad timings and bad moods, but after many, many months, my fingers were once again itching to finish it. Et voilà. Enjoy! ♥

The first sunlight of the day lazily rolls onto the cave floor. The tiny beam grows from a hair's width to a respectable rectangle. My gaze shifts from it to his face continuously. I prefer looking at him, even though his sleeping face isn't exactly a picture of elegance. He's drooling onto me with his mouth wide open, and his nose is even more crooked than usual as it squishes up against my torso. It's the first time I've seen his worry lines relax so thoroughly. He hasn't let go of me since I offered that he could snuggle up to me. When he woke in the middle of the night shaking and panting, sweat trickling down his forehead, it was the least I could do. Now, it's been a while since I woke up, and since I should've risen. But running my thumb across the shaved side of his head, counting his breaths, is keeping me put like an anchor.

   My thoughts scatter like frightened birds when a distant noise penetrates the serenity. My heart-rate immediately picks up. I tense, stiff as a durasteel beam, as the noise seems to close in. After a few seconds, the puzzle pieces connect in my head. Realization strikes me like a drop kick. It's the sound of an engine.

   I shoot up so quickly that my vision blurs. Samuel slides off me, despite his fingers' attempts at clinging onto me. I stumble outside while my eyesight clears. The dew from the cold grass seeps through my socks. Searching for the vessel in the bright blue sky, I'm blinded by the gross incandescence. Just as I squint and my pupils get used to the bright outdoors, I spot it. A small vessel gleaming in the sunlight. I don't even need to see the symbol inevitably painted on its side to recognize it. I've seen it so many times already that I've lost count. It's a Jedi ship – a small transport vessel that likely contains only a few passengers, travelling from a larger vessel to the surface of the planet.

   I draw breath for the first time since I saw it. Tension evaporates from my chest. My torso shakes as I exhale, and a smile spreads across my face. I look back down and lock eyes with Samuel, who's sitting up inside the cave and squinting at me. The few strands of hair that have escaped his tight ponytail are sticking up at impossible angles. I jog back inside, beaming at him. My wet feet and sore ankle barely register at the back of my mind.

   "What the fuck—" he moans, before I throw out my arms as though I was going to hug the stuffy atmosphere.

   "It's a ship, Samuel!" I say, voice thick with sleep. At this, he perks up. His eyes widen and I see his pupils contract. He scurries upright while I hop into my still humid pants and boots.

   "Is it landing here?" he asks, and clears his throat. I pull on my torn tunic.

   "It's a Jedi ship, so I think so. I think they might've finally found me!" I say, voice climbing an octave or two. As I emerge from my cloth prison, I realize that his movements have halted. He stares at me with an open mouth and a wrinkle between his brows. His worry lines are back in full force. A sting pierces my stomach, and my zeal falters as I approach him. He drops his gaze to the ground, and I place my hands on his shoulders.

   "Samuel, you're going to be fine. We're both going to be fine," I say. He clenches his jaw.

   "Please, look at me," I continue. He seems to shrink and his arms stick to his sides. It takes a few seconds for his gaze to meet mine, and even then he only does so for a moment. I smile gently and wait for him to build up the courage to hold that gaze. When he does, my smile can't help but widen.

   "You'll be perfectly safe. They're not going to hurt you on my watch," I say, stomach quivering slightly as the words form on my tongue. He presses his lips together.

   "Will they hurt you?" he mutters. I jerk my head back a little at the question. I blink a few times and regain my composure.

   "Of course not. They'd never," I say. He lowers his gaze once more and nods a little. With a sigh, I brush stiff stray strands of hair away from his forehead. I bend my neck down and place a gentle kiss on it – right on the indentation of a long scar. His eyes widen, and a red hue spreads from his cheeks to his ears. He picks at his nails, licks his lips, and nods with more conviction.

   "Okay," he whispers.

 

My ankle moans with every step, but I can't bring myself to slow down. My heart is threatening to burst out of my chest. I've kept my eye on where the small ship might have landed. It looks as though they've been using the same landmark to guide themselves as we have – the crashed vessel on top of the mountain hill. Its smoke trail has finally ceased, but it remains a sore thumb in the landscape.

   My eyes widen further and my heart soars when we yet again reach the top of that hill. The ship has landed. Its backdoor ramp is open. Six robed Jedi are taking in the ghastly sight of the crash. Even from a distance, recognition quivers in my mind. Their auras are intimately familiar to me. I raise my shaking hands and clear my throat.

   "I'm here!" I shriek. All six Jedi jump in their boots. Then they perk up at the sight of me.

   "Anders?!" a feminine voice calls out. My knees are bubbling. I take a few hasty steps towards them and pick up my pace, whether my ankle likes it or not. Samuel grabs my wrist. His grip is so tight, it almost hurts.

   "Don't!" he whispers through gritted teeth. "Please!" I look back at him, my entire face cracked open in a smile. He looks like he's watching me throw myself off a building.

   "Samuel, I'll be fine," I say, bubbling sensation permeating my voice. He shakes his head vigorously.

   "No!" I take his hand in mine.

   "Yes, I will. They're not going to hurt me, I promise you." As I back away from him to get closer to them, he lets go of my wrist. He immediately holds his hands up against his chest, frantically picking at his nails. I swallow hard.

   "Come along at your own pace, okay? I'm not going to force you. We'll both be fine, you have to trust me on that," I insist. I catch a glimpse of his gaze dropping to the stony ground, before I turn back towards my comrades. I finally enter a jog. One of them steps towards me as I close in on them. Hers is the most powerful aura, with about a decade's worth of superiority on me. I get close enough to see the careful smile on her face.

   "Hey, sheesh! Sorry I'm so late, I just could not for the life of me hail a cab from here," I say and roll my eyes. Two of the younger Jedi behind her giggle. She raises her eyebrows and sighs.

   "Well. I'm glad to see a week of being stranded hasn't curbed your enthusiasm, so to speak," she says. I resist the urge to hug her. Instead, we both do a quick bow.

   "Yes, well, I just don't know how to quit," I say, smile widening. "How did you find me? I'd nearly given up on the idea of being found at all." She sighs and rolls her eyes.

   "Yes, took us long enough, didn't it. We worked with the company behind the transport to figure out what had happened once you didn't report back to us. At first, we thought the Sith might have killed you, but, as it turned out, the whole ship had gone dark," she explains. I nod and she's about to speak again when one of the Jedi about my age gasps. They're staring at the gaping hole in my tunic. Only now do I realize that there are blood stains around said hole.

   "Anders, are you okay? What happened to you?" they ask. Immediately after, they all glare behind me. At Samuel. The hairs on my neck stand on end.

   "Did he—" they start, before I wave my hands in front of me.

   "No, no, goodness no! This was, uh..." I grasp my side and press my lips together. "Rather a nasty beast. It's taken care of, don't worry, I'm absolutely fine. Just a stroke of bad luck, really." The older Jedi, undoubtedly the leader of this small squad, narrows her eyes at me.

   "I see," she says. I cautiously turn my head and look back at Samuel, who still has the attention of all five. He's glaring right back. His shoulders are up around his ears, and he's standing perfectly still, like a silent droid that could spring to life any minute.

   "Anders, I have to admit, this is rather a sloppy capture," she continues. I freeze in place and a jab hits my stomach. It quivers and almost evolves into nausea. All of my zeal and enthusiasm flushes out with the goose bumps that rush over my skin. I rub my neck as my gaze drops to the rocky ground.

   "Yes, well." I giggle nervously. "I know. I—It turned out to not really be necessary." She eyes both me and Samuel.

   "I find that very hard to believe. Or perhaps you simply did better than we expected," she says, rubbing her chin. I swallow hard.

   "Uh, well, he was injured, actually. When I found him. So we struck a deal that I wouldn't hurt him and he wouldn't hurt me—"

   "You what?! You don't simply make a deal with a Sith, Anders, you know that!" she cuts in like a vibroblade.

   "No, I know, I know! But, we—well, we got along. I healed him, and we got along. And I'm still here, aren't I?" I say and chuckle, but my voice is quivering along with my stomach. Her glare bores holes straight through me.

   "There's something you're not telling me, Anders. You know that I know that." She sighs deeply and shifts her weight. "But now isn't the time to have this discussion. Sharés, Menkar, come along. We'll bring him aboard." She gestures towards two of the senior Jedi behind her. Alongside them, she strides towards Samuel's position, lightsabers in hand. I jump in front of her with my arms out to the sides, as though I'm trying to put myself between him and a raging wampa.

   "Wait, please!" I shriek. She glowers at me, eyes ablaze.

   "Let me do it. That's all I ask. He's scared to death right now, but he trusts me. He'll freak out if you just march towards him and demand he comes along like that, okay?" I explain, hands over my heart. She clenches her jaw while scowling at me, but finally gestures that the two Jedi stay.

   "Fine. But I'm coming with you." My teeth dig into my lower lip.

   "I mean no disrespect, but I would really rather you didn't. He—"

   "I'm coming with you," she repeats, voice even colder and harsher this time. Needles shudder and sting in my veins and gut. I nod and draw a shaky breath. I turn back towards him, and he seems to have shrunk and withered even more. He's still looking straight at me. I try to smile at him, but find my lower lip quivering.

   We all stop dead in our tracks when engine noises resound over the cliffs. I instinctively look at the Jedi vessel. Its engine is off, making no such sounds. My knees feel weak and my mouth goes dry as sand. Bathed in the pale glow of the morning sun, another slightly larger vessel appears over the mountainside. It's no Jedi ship. Its black paintjob and the symbol on its side is a dead giveaway.

   I glance towards Samuel. He no longer looks like a wilting flower. His back is straight and his hands are clasped behind it. His gaze is cold and intense, not meeting mine. The ship pops out its landing gear and descends two dozen meters away from us – he strides towards it without a hint of fear in his steps. It touches down, and he doesn't move as the impact makes his hair billow from the force.

   "Did he do this?" the Jedi leader snarls behind me. Without conscious thought guiding me, I stagger towards Samuel. I end up in the middle, between the two ships, when the back of the Sith vessel opens. Five people march down the ramp – four warriors trailing behind a tall, cloaked figure. Samuel kneels and bows his head, and they stop in front of him. My heartbeat thunders through my ears, and I can only barely hear what they're saying.

   "Hawke." The cloaked figure regards him with a nod, then hesitates. "You are not under the influence of mind control?" she asks, her voice light and regal. Samuel's head snaps up to look her in the eyes that I cannot yet see.

   "No. Never," he says. She tilts her head at him.

   "Hm. Then it's rather surprising that you did not simply slaughter that Jedi at your earliest convenience," she states. I feel her eyes on me through her hood, like a predator regarding its helpless prey. Samuel's gaze drops again, while he opens and closes his mouth a few times.

   "Yes. Of course," he mumbles. He wets his lips and slowly looks back up at her.

   "If I may ask, how did you—"

   "Find you?" she interrupts. "Why, we simply followed your tracker signal, of course." He visibly tenses. "Although it mysteriously disappeared some hours ago. We almost thought we lost you, there," she says with a honey-sweet tone.

   "Yes, our scouts saw you with that Jedi," she continues, pointing in my direction. "We reckoned that you had to be under the influence of a mind trick to follow him around like that. But it seems that you were perfectly well all along. And indeed, a decoy and a little patience paid off, didn't it?" She removes her hood and turns her attention to me and the Jedi behind me, while Samuel stares at her with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open. The Jedi leader steps forward and shouts something at her. She replies, but I'm not listening to either of them. My eyes are glued to Samuel. I inch forwards, moving without thinking. He's still closer to me than he is to them. I hear lightsabers switch on behind me, and likewise red flashes in front of me. I leap forwards, heart in my throat, and seize Samuel's arm. I drag him to his feet as I start running, and sprint back in the direction we came with him in tow.

   "Anders!" someone screams after me, but I don't stop running. I don't look back. My ankle aches with every quickened step. The sound of lightsabers clashing echoes across the cliffs. Samuel stumbles behind me, but manages to keep up. I glance back at him. He's staring at the mess we're running from. I tighten my grip on his hand.

   It doesn't take long before we're back at the cave. I let go of Samuel, drop to my knees, and start shoving everything I can into a backpack. I can barely breathe. My lungs are on fire and my mind is racing. As I pull a blanket into my hands and crumple it up, Samuel looms over me like an oppressive shadow. I look up at him, suddenly hyperaware of my own panting. His gaze is piercing and he's paler than usual.

   "I need my lightsaber," he whispers. I pause and brush away a few stray hairs.

   "Why? We're—Samuel, we're about to run. I—I don't even know if we _can_ run from them," I start, but he winces and reaches out towards me with a weird, shaky hand gesture.

   "That's why I need it. I need it," he repeats. I'm about to protest further when he squats down next to me and puts his hand on top of mine. A burst of electricity shoots through my quivering stomach.

   "If we can't run, I need to be able to defend us," he says. "Please." He squeezes my hand. The butterflies in my stomach consider fluttering, but his wide-eyed, intense gaze prevents them. I can't place why it unsettles me. With a tight-lipped smile, I reach into my shoulder bag, move aside my fried lightsaber, and retrieve his. Handing it to him, I place my hand on top of his and stroke his fingers. His gaze mellows momentarily.

   "Okay. I understand," I say, almost able to keep my voice from wavering. His breath stalls. Then he blinks at me and kisses my cheek. A genuine smile flashes across my face. He stands up, and I rearrange the items in my bag to make space.

   "Okay, grab whatever you can and put it in a bag. Leave everything we don't absolutely need," I say. I shove the blanket into my bag, turning it almost spherical, and then heave it onto my shoulder. I grab an unwashed pan in one hand and a backpack in the other.

   "Samuel, you have to help me with—" I say and turn to look at him. He's not in the cave. Instead, I catch sight of him outside. My heart skips a beat. His back is to me, and he's striding towards the landing site.

   "Sam!" I scream, forcing out what little air I had left in my lungs. At that, he breaks into a run. Chills shoot down my spine. I scramble to my feet, leaving the other bags and supplies behind.

   "Sam, no!" I sprint after him as quickly as I can. I grit my teeth as pain pulses in my ankle. I keep going. He disappears around the curve of the cliff-side. Tears cling to the corners of my eyes. I wince as I run. A myriad of images flash through my mind. Samuel, cutting the Jedi down. My fellow Jedi. My comrades. Them slaying him. Without remorse. No doubt not believing the fact that he's safe – with me. If he slaughters them, he could easily strike me down as well. I can almost envision the feeling of his lightsaber pushed through my chest. He'd strike me down while the cloaked Sith strokes his hair with a smirk.

   I shake my head and try to speed up. I catch sight of him again just before he climbs up the top of the hillside. The flashes from blades clashing are already visible from here. He's smaller and faster than me. No matter how hard I push myself, I can't keep up with him. Especially not with this ankle. As soon as he reaches the top of the cliffside, he reaches his hand out. A Force pull, no doubt. My breath stalls as the person he pulls towards him is one of the Sith warriors. He slices their chest open in flight. They crash to the ground, blood spattering over the stone ground. They're still alive – twitching and grasping in pain, body nearly carved in two.

   I scramble up the hill, almost slipping in their warm blood. Samuel leaps into battle like an apex predator. He crosses blades with another Sith and takes them by surprise. Two Jedi jump away from him when he suddenly gets so close. He ignores them entirely. His focus lies only with his fellow Sith. One Jedi already adorns the ground like a dead fish – it's one of the younger Jedi. Needles stir and rush through my body. I have nothing to fight with. All I have is the Force and my own willpower. With flared nostrils and my lips squeezed into a thin line, I observe the fight.

   No Jedi choose to fight alongside Samuel. They let him face the Sith on his own while they focus on the other threats. His hits and swings are fast and powerful. Either my mind is weighed down by stress and confusion, or he's one of the more unpredictable fighters I've encountered. Even his Sith comrade seems to struggle to predict his movements. But they clip his cheekbone – the very tip of their blade draws his blood. Instinct flows through me. I reach out towards the warrior. Then I exert the pressure of the Force. Their movements halt and then freeze. I can feel them struggling against me. It feels like my fingers are going to bend the wrong way. It gives Samuel enough time to plunge his blade through their chest. Their fighting against me ceases.

   Fire surges in my chest. I scan the battlefield. Two of my kin are struggling against one of the warriors. Countering their every move, there are no openings for them to use. I concentrate. Chills rush down my spine. The warrior's movements slow in my mind. I can almost predict them. Just before they land from a leap, I strike. I shove my hand towards them. The Force shoves with me. They stumble and almost botch the landing entirely. The Jedi descend on them. I can't help but crack a smile at their quick capitalization. The ghost of my lightsaber almost doesn't linger in my hand anymore.

   Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Sith break away from combat. They weave and dodge and escape their pursuers. Instead of fighting, they rush towards me. My breath catches in my throat. Needles sting my veins. They're sprinting towards me as fast as possible. I force air into my lungs. I feel how my feet are firmly planted on the ground. The light breeze blows through my clothes and hair. I blink for just a bit longer than usual. The Force surrounds me and flows through me. Panic evaporates from my body. The fire and the calm remains, merging into a near-perfect whole. I glare at the assailant sprinting towards me. I move my elbows back, feeling my fingers move with the Force. Then I put all of my strength into a push.

   The Sith slows and almost falls over. I grit my teeth as they regain their balance, planting their heavy boots solidly on the stone. I exhale, pushing them as much as I can. I will be the flexible reed while they are the tree that snaps. They endure for a few moments, before they start pushing forwards. They stomp towards me as if they were wading through strong currents. The needles stir again. I swallow hard. As they approach, my knees bubble. My fight or flight instinct is leaning heavily towards flight.

   Just when my knees are about to either give out or turn me around, a red blade cleaves them from the throat down. They all but freeze and stop breathing. I exhale sharply and the Force lets go of us. The blade is reinserted by their hip and dragged up, almost slicing them in half. They sink to the ground, blood gurgling in their throat. Samuel becomes visible behind them. I lock eyes with him. His own blood is smeared across his face and the blood of others is spattered. His chest heaves with every breath and his teeth are bared. If looks could kill, he might have slain me on the spot. His ghostly pale hue and dark gaze send shivers down my spine.

   He turns back towards the battlefield. My gaze follows his direction. I hunch over when another Jedi is run through by the cloaked Sith. She's the only Sith left besides Samuel at this point. He leaps back into the fray, but she deflects whatever they throw at her. The Jedi are still keeping their distance from Samuel. My heart is pounding and sweat is running down my back. I can barely breathe. I rack my brain for something I can do. Something that could turn the tide of battle. I see the squad leader try to throw her off her balance like I did to the other Sith, but she's far too savvy for it. They cannot break her combat focus.

   I look around frantically, head hurting, eyes not settling on anything. Finally, I get the bright idea to look up. Her back is to the cliffside. My escape shuttle lies on top of that cliff like a sleeping giant. And it's dangerously close to the edge – had it been just a few meters further out, I might not have survived the trip to the surface at all. Acid flows through my muscles, leaving my entire body weak and wobbly. But whatever strength I still have left in me, I can spend on this.

   I glance back down at the battle. The cloaked Sith doesn't seem to be paying me any mind, though she likely would if I were to join the fray up close. I exhale deeply, close my eyes, and plant my feet on the stone ground. The hairs on my body stand on edge and the sounds of battle fade away. The Force surrounds me. It flows all around me, weaving through my hair and fingers, guiding me. I can almost see the world around me, despite my shut eyelids. I reach my hands out towards the shuttle, moving my arms as little as possible. Anything to avoid her scrutiny. With every breath, I inch the shuttle closer to the edge. Her back is still to the cliffside. Theirs are not. Hopefully they'll see it come crashing down in time. My heart-rate quickens the closer it gets to falling. Finally, it's on the brink.

   Gravity takes hold. My eyes fly open and I let go of the Force. The fire in my gut flares, my breath stalls, and my knees give out. I hit the ground so inelegantly, it sends tremors through my body. The pain in my kneecaps is muted by watching the shuttle plummet. She hasn't seen it yet. Nor have they. It picks up speed as it falls. The Jedi squad leader glances up. She spreads her arms out and the other Jedi jump back with her. Samuel stumbles away when he's left alone to battle her. A smirk spreads across her face for a moment. Then it fades in an instant. Everyone leaps further back. She dashes forward. In a flash, the Force acts through me. I pull my arms back and with a loud creak, its trajectory shifts towards me – and towards her. The shuttle lands with a loud boom. It sends tremors through the ground that I can feel from here.

   A groan escapes my throat as I force myself to my feet. I shamble to the new crash site on trembling legs. My heart skips a beat when I get a look at what happened through the Jedi formation. They remain at a distance, while Samuel closes in on her. She's all but helpless now, lower body stuck under the shuttle. I wouldn't be surprised if most of her inner organs have been mashed as well. He pulls her lightsaber out of her grasp, and she makes no effort to prevent it. With a wrinkle on his nose, he squeezes it in his grasp until it cracks and breaks. The pieces unceremoniously clatter to the ground. I wince when I get close enough to hear her ragged breathing.

   "Yes, Hawke. After all this time. You're doing so excellently," she breathes. The glare he shoots her could kill a man. He's trembling too.

   "Your wrath is so powerful. So righteous. Look how easily you slaughtered your fellow warriors." She takes a long, wet breath, blood spilling from her mouth. "All of your training. All this effort. I knew it would pay off one day." Samuel's nostrils flare, and for a moment he presses his eyebrows together. Then he steps closer and presses his foot down on her neck. He holds his hand up and slowly curls his fingers. Her pupils roll into the back of her head, she grits her teeth, and only groans escape her lips.

   "Careful," he growls. At that, she smiles.

   "Good. Good. I don't care what you do to me. But turn your wrath on these Jedi next. You could get so far. Do so well. Go on. I know you can do it, my sweet. You—" she doesn't get to finish her coercing. Samuel roars, steps off her throat, and instead slashes it clean in half. I can't help but cover my mouth. He stands hunched over her, every breath rocking through his body. His lightsaber quivers in his hands.

   The sigh of relief I'd breathed quickly retreats back into my lungs as I look around. My fellow Jedi are far from calm. Their lightsabers are still drawn and on and their stances are defensive. They're all staring at him like he's some sort of wild animal that might pounce any second. I'm about to step forward on my shaky legs and try to calm them when he peeks up at us. He looks like a natural disaster in human form. He's absolutely covered in blood. Tendrils of his dark, dirty hair stick to the blood on his forehead. His eyes are wide and unfocused. With slow, wobbly steps, he begins to back away from us, towards the Sith vessel.

   "Don't you dare come any fucking closer," he snarls. Their grips on their lightsabers tighten. They all jump in place as he stumbles over a piece of shuttle debris. My stomach stings, but I still stride forwards on aching knees and an even worse ankle. I place myself between him and them and face the Jedi with my palms held up in front of me.

   "Please, just take it easy! Give him some space," I plead. The squad leader narrows her eyes at me with a wrinkle on her nose.

   "Give him 'space'? Now there's a horrid idea if I ever heard one. He's obviously dangerous, Anders," she says, keeping her tone cold and calm. I shake my head.

   "Just let me talk to him! He's scared, he just needs a friend—he needs reassurance, not hostility," I hiss, throat almost closing up as I overshare. She glares at me.

   "Don't worry, Anders. This was bound to be a difficult, risky mission. I don't blame you one bit for having failed." I swallow hard, tongue darting out to wet my bone-dry mouth and lips. My heart beats faster by the second.

   "No, I haven't failed! You don't understand, I never needed to capture him. He's—he's unstable, obviously, and dangerously emotional, all of that. And of course he is! That's exactly how they made him! But he's more than that. He's more than the dark side, more than just a Sith!" I explain, tongue almost tripping over my words in its haste. "And I can—"

   "Calm yourself, Anders," she interrupts, and the pyre in my stomach flares. " _We_ will place him into custody just as planned. Your part in this is over."

   "Don't you fucking touch me!" Samuel screams behind me, making me jump in place. I whip around to face him instead, pressure building in my tear ducts.

   "Samuel, damn it, please take it easy! You have to calm down. You're not in any danger here, you have to believe me! Not from me and not even from them. But you might be if you don't calm down!" I plead, voice breaking. His gaze flickers between my face and the Jedi behind me. It's like talking to a scared, cornered dog who doesn't understand a lick of what I'm saying. My stomach won't stop stinging. A sense of weakness in my muscles washes over me. I want nothing more than to collapse, cry, and drag him down with me.

   Out of the corner of my eye, I see the squad leader step closer. Her lightsaber is in a combative position now. Samuel staggers backwards and shoves his hand towards them. The younger Jedi at the back fall over from the push. The others merely stumble. I only feel my balance waver. To my ailing legs that's like being turned upside down. I wasn't the target.

   "As we planned!" she commands. Two Jedi jump towards him. Gravity takes hold of me.

   "Stop!" I shout, voice mushy from tears. Samuel shrieks and fires a bolt of lighting at the vanguard. They shriek in return. One of the others dodge around his back. He used his lightsaber-equipped hand to shock the vanguard. Even in my mind's fog, I recognize it a desperate move. Just as the Jedi is about to slash, he reaches out towards them. He pulls them into a chokehold, glare boring into their skull. The squad leader moves around my side. Then she dashes towards him at breakneck speed.

   My heart skips a beat. I shout to alert him. He sees her out of the corner of his eye a split second too late. He lets go of the other Jedi. It's all he has time to do. He doesn't get to retract his arm. Then she slides underneath it with her lightsaber held up. The lightning abruptly ends. He turns ghostly pale just as quickly. The arm hits the ground with a fleshy thud. He drops his lightsaber, grabs his shoulder, and looks at what's supposed to be there. His knees are shaking and he halfway spins around as though he's looking for it in desperation. He staggers away from us and drops to the ground on his shins. Finally, he draws a ragged breath. Then another one. Then he screams. There's not a hint of rage in it. Only pain. It slowly turns into shaky whimpering. He's trembling so much, it almost looks like he's having a seizure.

   The Jedi switch off their lightsabers and inch towards him. I will myself to get up. My legs quiver in agony. I run towards him, steal his still lit lightsaber off the ground, and place myself between him and them. At that, the Jedi finally stop their advance. They all stare at me with wide eyes and broken facades. I only now realize that my teeth are bared. Every breath stings in my throat. Tears cling to my eyelashes. The Jedi squad leader puts up one palm and looks me directly in the eyes.

   "Take it easy, Anders. Don't do anything you'll regret," she says, voice steely cool as ever. I wince.

   "Take it easy?!" I bark. I swallow hard, biting back a sob. Fire is raging in my chest. My veins are ablaze. I move back and seize Samuel's remaining arm. I drag him to his feet, though his body is as limp as a slab of meat. I support him by the hip and drape his arm around my shoulders. My heart skips a beat when he grabs on to my tunic. His nails get a hold of my skin underneath it. They dig in mercilessly, clinging to me like his life depended on it. When I turn back around, the Jedi have drawn closer. I brandish his red lightsaber at them.

   "No! Don't!" I shriek.

   "Anders, what are you doing?" one of the younger Jedi asks. Genuine confusion oozes from their tone. Tears finally fall from my eyelashes.

   "You could've just listened to me! You could've just fucking listened! I told you I could handle it—that I could handle him and you just didn't listen to me! None of this needed to happen!" I yell. My heart feels like it's about to burst. The squad leader shakes her head at me.

   "Damn it, Anders, you knew this would happen just as well as I did. You knew exactly what our plan was, and you saw how he was acting. It couldn't have gone any other way," she says. I grit my teeth so hard, it hurts.

   "You didn't listen to me!" I shout and back away from them, towards the Sith vessel. "I told you I just needed to talk to him! I told you he wasn't just some Sith scum!"

   "Anders—"

   "But no! I just needed to calm myself! Just stay calm! And then you'd fuck him up and not give a damn about the truths I told you! All just to twist him into something useful to you!" The squad leader's eyes light up.

   "That's not true, and you know it!" she says, voice finally raised. I shake my head at her. I barely know what else to do. I almost stumble over the ship's metal ramp. My breath stalls momentarily. I whip around and bound up the ramp, into the vessel. They shout at me. Inside I quickly locate the door mechanism and slam the panel. The ramp closes after us.

   I look around frantically. It's a small transport vessel whose design is similar to ours. A couple of small rooms connected by a single hallway to a large cockpit. Just big enough for a small squad of Sith. I stagger through the hallway, knees aching and head pounding. Samuel still holds on for dear life. His every breath is uneven and ragged. I'm not sure if he's still conscious at this point. I rush into the sizeable cockpit. My muscles stiffen when I lay eyes upon the pilot still in their seat. They turn around to look at me, eyes and nostrils widening. Before they get to say or do anything, I reach out towards them. I take hold of them with the Force and toss them across the room. Their cap falls off and their head hits the wall with a loud crack. I feel their consciousness fade with their aura.

   Heart in my throat, I rush ahead. I leave Samuel in the co-pilot's seat, forcing him to let go of my tunic, and dump my shoulder bag on the floor. I switch off his lightsaber, leave it on top of the bag, and scour the ship's control panels. I start the engines, take off, pull up the landing gear, and search frantically for the autopilot. I locate it and punch in the location: far from here. My balance shifts as the ship heads away from the planet. Fire rushes through my body with every beat of my desperate heart. Barely thinking, I stride towards the unconscious Sith pilot. I tear open the cockpit's side door, grab them by the collar, and hurl them out of it. I force it closed again and sprint back towards Samuel. He has tears streaming down his bloody face. He stares at me with glossy eyes. I put my hands on his shoulders and kneel down in front of him. We're both trembling.

   "Samuel? Can you hear me?" I ask. He opens his mouth, but doesn't actually respond. I press my lips together.

   "Does it hurt badly?" I ask, hoping that he'll at least answer a question with an obvious answer. At that, he simply groans and grits his teeth. I nod at him, and a weak smile flickers across my face. At least he's still somewhat aware.

   "Okay. Okay. No wonder," I say, and look around frantically. A wave of relief washes over me when I spot a small first-aid cabinet on a nearby wall. My knees throb as I get back up and lurch towards it. In that moment, a speaker on the control panel crackles to life.

   "Pilot 98-43 come in. We've lost visuals of your vessel and the battle site. Fill us in, now. Over," the speaker voice says. My hand automatically flies up to cover my mouth. My abs are clenched tight, and my entire body is frozen. Samuel just breathes unevenly.

   "Pilot 98-43, what's going on? Answer me, right now, over," the voice commands. With a ragged moan, Samuel places his remaining hand on the armrest. With that support, he drags himself upright. His knees are quivering even more than mine.

   "Sam, no! You don't have to!" I whisper. He slams his hand onto the control panel as his legs almost give out. As soon as he regains a sliver of shaky balance, he presses a button next to the speaker.

   "Pilot 98-43—" the voice repeats, before he interrupts it.

   "Shut up," he hisses. My eyes widen. Silence reigns for a second or two that feel like whole minutes.

   "Excuse me?" the voice says. "What—who is this?! Identify yourself!"

   "Hawke," he breathes.

   "Hawke?" it repeats. Sounds of rampant shuffling fill the speaker.

   "Welcome back, sir," it quickly says. "Can you fill us in on what has happened? Are the others with you?"

   "No," he croaks and takes a deep breath. "Alone." He has to force air into his lungs after almost every word.

   "What—"

   "Cut my arm off. The Jedi—cut my arm off," he breathes, voice breaking. "Rest are dead. The others."

   "Then we'll send a vessel to pick you up immediately, sir. Maintain your current position and send us your coordinates." He shakes his head.

   "No." Another second of silence.

   "Sir, you'll need medical attention. I'll make sure there are doctors on the ship, you just have to stay put, and—"

   "No," he growls. "Leave me. I'll get home. Alone." A hushed conversation flows from the speaker. Meanwhile, his legs give out again. I rush forwards and support him by the hips. In my arms, he draws breath as if he'd just been drowning.

   "Yes, sir. Safe travels, sir." He searches the panels with his fingers and presses the button one more time.

   "Fuck off." I hide my snort in his shoulder.

   "Yes, sir," the voice concludes glumly. I carefully guide him back into the chair. He sits down inelegantly and winces. I leap over to the hyperdrive switch. We're definitely far enough away from the planet to make the jump, now. I flip the switch. The balance shifts ever so slightly, and the stars visible through the viewport start to bleed. I release a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

   Then I rush back towards the first-aid cabinet. I tear it open and peruse its contents. I stack disinfectant, tissues, disinfectant tissues, and plastic gloves in my arms, on top of enough bandages to wrap up an army. I examine all the painkillers. Pills are too slow. An injection requires knowing his weight, otherwise I could get him killed. And I highly doubt he's able to remember that information at the moment. There are a myriad of liquid painkiller substances. The pyre in my stomach is about to erupt again, but I finally get a hold of a painkilling gel. It's even a type with a small percentage of kolto in it. Unfortunately, that means I'll need to clean his wound before I can relieve his pain. I put my supplies on the control panel, snap on a pair of plastic gloves, grab a disinfectant wipe, and kneel down next to him.

   "I'm just going to clean your face first, okay?" I say. He blinks at me. I smile at him and carefully dab the wipe across the lightly cauterized cut on his cheek. He winces a little. After having cleaned the wound whose bleeding far outdid its actual damage, I clean off the rest of his face. I breathe deeply and run my finger across the small cut, an inch or so from his skin. All it needs is a bit of encouragement. He'll likely be adding another scar to his collection, despite its superficial depth and a bit of healing.

   Pressing my lips together, I glance at what's left of his arm. The side of his shirt and the remains of the sleeve are stained with blood. But the wound itself is cauterized, which has prevented major blood loss. I still need to clean it. I try to catch his gaze, but his eyes are getting more glossed over by the minute.

   "I'm going to have to take your shirt off, okay? I'll start with this arm—" I tap his remaining arm. "And then take it off your other one last. Then it'll hurt as little as possible. Okay?" He merely stares at me and doesn't respond. It's as if he's spent the very last of his speaking energy. I pull his long-sleeved shirt up over his waist, then maneuver his healthy right arm out under it. He manages to do some of the work himself, though it's unfocused and his fingers get stuck in the fabric. I pull it up over his head, momentarily catching on his long, crooked nose. Finally, I quickly remove it from his stump. His breathing stalled at the same time as mine. With another wipe I clean the area around the wound, mostly removing blood. I squeeze some gel onto my fingers and gently rub it on the skin above it. My hope is that that'll lessen the pain of what I'm about to do. With sticky gel still on my fingers, I place my hands on his shoulders again.

   "Now, Samuel, I'm going to have to disinfect your wound. You know, the big one, where your arm used to be. I can't lie to you, it's going to hurt. Like a motherfucker. But I have to, because otherwise I can't heal it or gel you or bandage it without risking infection. And that'll hurt even worse, okay?" I explain, feeling more than a little bit like a youngling teacher. He just looks at me again, eyes wildly scanning my face.

   "I'll try my best to be quick." I take one of the larger tissues and pour disinfectant on it. He tenses immediately. With a deep breath, I quickly and gently dab it on the cauterized wound. I get in only a few quick rubs before he squeals and pulls his stump away from me. His breathing has become ragged and too fast again. His piercing gaze is pinned on me, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. I press my lips together.

   "Sorry about this," I mutter. I place my shin on top of his thighs, press his shoulder back into the chair with my body weight, and grab onto his stump with my free hand. Then I start cleaning anew. He begins screaming at once. I might as well be stabbing him and twisting the knife. He's thrashing underneath me. I'm only just able to hold him still enough to clean him. He bashes his head into mine. It almost knocks me off of him. His wailing continues directly into my ear. He grabs my hair and pulls. I wince and breathe through gritted teeth. I try to keep my head still while I finish cleaning. He drags his fingers through my dirty, oily hair. Knots that don't untangle break off and he pulls out my hair tie. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my medical tools slide further up onto the control panel. Everything in the cockpit that isn't bolted down is shaking and moving. My heart sinks and I feel myself go pale. If he manages to throw the ship off course in hyperspace, it won't matter if we escaped the Sith and the Jedi at all.

   Finally, I'm satisfied with my disinfection. I let go of him and put my palms up in front of me.

   "I'm done! I'm done," I say. He jerks his upper body away from me. His fingers still cling to my hair. My skull aches from the hit and my scalp aches from the pull. His screaming turns into sobbing. He's trembling alongside everything in the ship. His face is covered in tears and snot.

   "Samuel, it's done, it's over," I repeat. He doesn't let go.

   "I need to get my gel so I can make it stop hurting, okay?" He's not staring at anything real. With a deep breath, I take off one of the gloves and gently stroke my fingers across his undamaged cheekbone, wiping away multiple tears in the process. I hush him and keep methodically stroking his cheek and shaved head.

   "Sam, the worst of it is over now. The pain will pass. You can relax, love," I whisper. At that, his expression softens slightly. His sobs turn less violent. The cockpit stops quivering. I breathe a sigh of relief and blink very slowly. His hand relaxes, but it's still tangled in my hair. I carefully reach up and free my hair from his grasp, making sure to squeeze his hand and stroke his fingers all the while.

   "There. Thank you," I mutter, as I climb off him and reach for the painkilling gel. I squeeze a dollop onto my gloved hand and ever so gently smear it on the cleaned wound. He winces and breathes through gritted teeth, muscles tensing. Instead of fighting back again, he regards me with enormous eyes and a quivering lower lip. He looks like a tiny puppy being harshly scolded.

   "It'll only hurt for a second, then the pain should begin to fade, okay?" I say, and stop treating him for a moment. After a few seconds, he instead turns to look at his arm. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips that have almost stopped quivering.

   "Okay?" I repeat, as softly as possible. He blinks several times. With a weak smile, I continue rubbing the gel on him. He winces greatly, but doesn't look at me. I'm glad my fingers are covered in plastic, though it doesn't entirely dull sensation. I doubt I'll ever get entirely used to touching the raw flesh of other beings. I pull off the last glove when I finish, dump it on the floor, and put on a fresh pair. I grab the bandages, and when I turn back to face Samuel, he's visibly relaxed. His mouth is hanging open, his eyelids are heavy, and he's breathing far more deeply. I can't help but widen my smile.

   "See? I told you it'd get better. Listen to your doctor, silly," I mutter. Neatly and carefully, I wrap up his stump. It's quick, easy work compared to the rest. As soon as I finish up, I take a deep breath and sit down on the armrest. With my hands hovering just a few inches over his arm, I touch the Force. I listen to my heartbeat and feel the ache in my bones. Then I turn my attention towards him. I haven't treated a lot of dismemberments, and nothing as large as this. It's usually a finger or a toe. Distress radiates off of him and his wound. I furrow my brows and get to work. I systematically knit tissue back together. But it's difficult to work around the cauterization. If nothing else, I can make sure his recovery will be faster and smoother. His muscles relax, and a moan escapes his lips. The process is akin to mending holes and damage in an enormous woollen blanket. Only, this blanket is missing pieces that will never come back, and some of the resulting edges have melted. There's only so much I can do.

   My heart skips a beat when his head nods down. I stare at him for a few seconds, before I cup his face in my hand.

   "Samuel?" I ask. He doesn't respond. I grab his chin and angle his head back up. His eyes are closed and he's limp in my grasp. I switch my attention from his arm to his head. Through the Force I visualize the contents of his skull. After a thorough search, I breathe a sigh of relief. Everything looks normal. His vitals are relatively good. It's only his arm that's suffered any real damage. Massive stress courses through his body, but I'm confident that he's going to be okay. I continue my work on his arm, making sure to let stray energy trail off into the rest of his body. Thinking about it, passing out is long overdue for him. I likely would have done it very shortly after losing a damn limb.

   I finally get to take a good look at his naked torso. He has some muscle definition, but his very visible ribs grab my attention more. His hip and collar bones are also quite protruding. The memories of him often just picking at his food like a choosy bird pop into my mind. I'm going to have to try to get some food in him, now that we're stuck with each other anyway. I swallow hard as I scan his remaining arm. His torso shows plenty of different scars, like his legs did. But his arm also sports those scars that definitely don't stem from combat. Clean, systematic cuts made with the same blade. I can't even count them. They adorn his skin like blades of grass do a forest meadow. They pepper his hips and lower stomach as well. I brush my fingers across his cheek and adjust his head to a more comfortable position. Doing so only shakes off the feeling of voyeurism a tad.

   Soon I finish up my work on his arm. It'll keep rejuvenating itself with the energy I've left it. But I'll have to get him to a more experienced doctor soon – a doctor whose head doesn't feel like it's about to explode. I plop into the pilot's chair like a sack of potatoes, pull off the gloves, and let them float to the floor. I drag my palms down my face. I'm just wiping sweat on more sweat at this point. Sinking into the chair, pressure builds against the roof of my mouth. Tears sting my eyes. I swallow hard and straighten my back. It's not yet time for me to unwind.

   I sit and stare out at the stars through the viewport. We've long since left hyperspace. My gut feels like it's missing – like it's been punched out. My knees are hollow with pain and my heartbeat throbs in my ankle. The closest nebula swirls with purple and red hues. It's like something I'd see in a dream. I travelled past it on the transport vessel almost a week ago as well. It's a landmark in this area of space. And beyond it lies... a single star in my mind. A single idea that shines bright against the rest of the dark, heavy abyss. It's as if the aches in my body ease their grasp on me as I mull it over.

   I reach for the communications device. Just when I'm about to punch in the complicated number that still rumbles around in my memory, my stomach stings. The Sith might not have tracked this ship's position, but there's no guarantee they don't record conversations over the comms. We'll surely abandon this ship at our earliest convenience, but there's no telling if they'll ever find it. If they did, they'd have a much easier time finding us. I rack my brain. I've deactivated recordings before, but only on Jedi ships. If I have any more luck left to spare, perhaps those techniques will work here as well.

   I punch in my go-to deactivation code. The mechanical-sounding lady in the speaker informs me that it's not a valid code or number. I press my lips together and try the second best. The exact same message sounds. My heartbeat picks up as I punch in one of my emergency codes. A strained sigh escapes my throat when that doesn't work either. I rub my temples. My mind seems to swirl around me. I'm about to simply give up, punch in the number, and throw caution to the wind, when a last code crawls up from the back of my mind. Where I learned it, I can no longer remember. I quickly input it and wait with bated breath. This time, the lady tells me that communication recordings have been disabled. Now it's a sigh of relief that I breathe. Finally, I dial in my long, complex number and wait. He better pick up if he knows what's good for him.

   "Bianca Arms and Prosthetics, lay it on me," says a crisp, familiar voice through the speaker. A sob-like gasp rocks through me.

   "Oh, Varric, thank the stars you picked up," I breathe. He hesitates on the other end.

   "Who is this?" he asks. I clear my dry throat.

   "Uh, it's Anders. I don't know if you remember me, it's been a year or two at this point—"

   "Oh! The rebel Jedi, right?" he interrupts. "Of course I remember you, how could I not? What's up with you? You sound like you've smoked twenty cigarettes in a row, if you don't mind me saying." I smile through a sigh.

   "Then I sound approximately how I feel. Listen, Varric, I need your help," I say. He chuckles.

   "Again. What kind of mess are you in this time?" I wipe my forehead with my sleeve.

   "I, uh, I need a prosthetic arm. Well, not for me, for my, uh—" I glance towards Samuel, who's still sleeping like a rather ugly baby. "My friend," I say, the word feeling awkward and almost unfamiliar on my tongue.

   "I see," he says, and shuffles with something. "Urgently?"

   "Pretty urgently, yeah."

   "What price range are we talking?" My eyes widen and my stomach quivers.

   "I hadn't really thought that far, actually," I admit. He clicks his tongue.

   "Uh-huh. What are his measurements?" My heart sinks even further.

   "I don't think I even have a way to measure him." Varric sighs, but I can hear that he's still smiling.

   "Anders, come on. I can't 'urgently' get to work on an arm if I don't have basic measurements. They have to match, right? You don't want one nice, muscular arm and one metallic noodle," he muses, almost making me giggle.

   "A fair point," I say.

   "Do you know _which_ arm you need a prosthetic for?" This does drag a single laugh out of me.

   "The right arm."

   "The right arm, gotcha. Then I can at least get to work on some sort of idea, unless I have something lying around that happens to fit. That would be bit of a miracle, though. Doesn't happen often. Who are we talking about here, a pencil pusher or some sort of warrior like you?" I glance at him again, regarding the many scars that adorn his skin.

   "Definitely a warrior. More so than I am, far more so. He lost his arm in combat. Cauterized—the wound is cauterized. I don't know if that makes a difference," I mutter. He hesitates, before acknowledging my words with a short groan.

   "On that note, do you know of a good doctor? Near you, or... anywhere?" I ask. More shuffling.

   "Yeah, there's a very competent little group on the moon here. They don't work for free, though. And neither do I," he states. I draw a deep, shaky breath and run my hands through my oily hair.

   "No, I know, I know. I'll figure something out, Varric. Thank you," I say.

   "Anytime." My fingers unconsciously fiddle with the seams on my tunic.

   "Do you also know a decent place to stay on your planet? In your town, perhaps? Or maybe a cheap ship shop? That'd do, too," I ramble.

   "You really are in a lot of trouble, aren't you?" he says. My throat almost closes up. I can't stop myself from gazing over at Samuel once again.

   "I don't think I'm a Jedi anymore," I breathe.

   "See, you said that last time I saw you, too—"

   "I mean it this time," I say, cutting him off. He sighs deeply.

   "There's a ship shop right next to the port. They sell used hunks of junk left and right, it's perfect. You can't miss it, they advertise themselves pretty aggressively. Lots of neon and noise and whatnot. No nice places to stay that are also cheap, the two kind of don't go together, so I'd recommend you get yourself a ship," he advises. I nod vigorously, despite his inability to see it.

   "Okay, great. Brilliant. Thank you so much, Varric, you're a damn lifesaver." He chuckles once more.

   "I know. Take care of yourself, Anders, alright? Come see me as soon as you get here, yeah?" A weak smile spreads across my face.

   "I will. Thank you."

   "As I said, anytime." He hangs up. I sit and listen to the quiet static of the speaker for a few long minutes, just breathing deeply and feeling my heart beat. I jump in place when Samuel stirs next to me. I shoot up from my chair and kneel down next to him. He slowly opens his eyes with a long, deep groan. Then he grimaces and scrambles to sit upright, immediately hyperventilating.

   "Hey, it's alright, you're safe," I say, putting a hand on his thigh. His gaze flickers wildly around the room. Eventually it settles on his missing arm, upon which his nostrils flare and he pales even further. He grits his teeth and swallows hard.

   "Did you forget?" I ask, with my gentlest tone. Instead of replying, he smacks his hand over his mouth and breathes in hard via his nose. His muscles are stiff and strained, as if he'd contort if he didn't keep them locked in place. Realization strikes me and I look around feverishly. There are no buckets, bags, or other containers anywhere. For a split second I consider grabbing another plastic glove for him. Then my eyes settle on the pilot's hat on the floor. I scurry over to get it, grab it, and shove it into his hand. It feels relatively stiff, thank the stars. I pull back his moist, oily hair from his face. He takes half a deep breath before he keels over and vomits into the hat. I look away, though I'm not sure what good it does at this point. I run my other hand over his cold, naked back as tremors rock through his torso.

   "There you go. Out with it," I mutter. There's not much substance to it, which isn't surprising – he hasn't eaten anything since last night. Eventually, he's reached the point where he's simply retching and nothing comes out anymore. After a dozen long seconds of heavy breathing, I try to catch his gaze.

   "Feeling a little better? Do you think that's it for now?" He blinks hard, swallows, and nods.

   "Okay. Great. Let me take that and I'll, uh, put it somewhere," I say. Still shaking, he hands me the cap. I deliberately keep my eyes off it as I put it at the very back of the room. I'd throw it in the trash chute, but we might need it again. When I return to him, I pull up a disinfectant wipe and hand it to him. He immediately wipes his mouth and thoroughly cleans his teeth and gums. He curls it up and dumps it on the floor when he's done. I let him; I'm going to need to clean everything up soon regardless. He looks at me with big puppy eyes.

   "Can I have my shirt back?" he asks with a hoarse voice. I snatch his one-sleeved shirt off the floor where it had also fallen. He gingerly takes it out of my hands and wrestles it on. His head promptly gets stuck in the opening. I help him pull it down, but he bats my hands away afterwards. I merely smile at him. At first, he lets his stump stay within the shirt. Then he seems to bristle and carefully forces it out in its short sleeve.

   "Does it still hurt?" I ask.

   "Head's killing me. Not a migraine, but close," he mutters. My eyebrows shoot up for a moment.

   "Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. But what about your arm?" I continue. He stares at what's left of it and clenches his jaw, as if it's telling him something offensive that I can't hear.

   "It's cold," he mutters. I point a finger above the wound.

   "Up here?" He nods once.

   "That's completely normal, don't worry about that. I want to give you some better painkillers later, but I need to know how much you weigh for those. Although, I suppose I could give you something in pill form now, then we can be sure that—" I explain, before he stares directly at me with enormous eyes.

   "I failed," he whispers. I furrow my brows, needles poking my gut.

   "What? Why—why would you have failed?" I ask. He shakes his head.

   "I just—I—I shut down. Didn't know what to do. Like all my thoughts just disappeared. My will drained," he says, voice but a whisper. With a little sigh I take his hand in mine.

   "That's completely normal, Samuel. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Really, you handled it far better than I could have expected," I say. He blinks several times and chews on his lower lip.

   "No. No. Not how I'm supposed to react in the face of adversity," he growls. Nausea coils up my throat. I'm almost certain those words aren't his.

   "Even after all this time. After all this time," he mumbles, voice breaking. I give his hand a squeeze with both of mine.

   "Hey, listen to me, Samuel. I'm a healer, and your own personal doctor right now, so I know what I'm talking about. Not only that—" I swallow involuntarily. "I'm your friend. So when I say that you did just fine, it's the truth. I mean it. You handled everything admirably, in my humble opinion," I say. "Even if I'm going to have a bruise the size of a mountain on my head as a result." He furrows his brow and looks down at our hands. It takes him a few seconds to put together any sort of answer.

   "Sorry," he finally mutters. Before I get to answer, he speaks again.

   "Are you still a Jedi?" he asks. At that, the needles finally pierce my gut again. I lick my lips and wet my mouth that suddenly feels as dry as a desert.

   "I don't know. I don't think so," I breathe.

   "What am I?" he asks.

   "Whatever you want to be. I don't think you have to be Sith or Jedi at all. Perhaps we're something in between," I say. But he doesn't miss a beat.

   "What was your mission?" His gaze is trained on me. His expression is soft like a newborn kitten, but it sends shivers down my spine regardless. I can't help but plant my teeth in my lower lip.

   "I—I—" I try to start, but have to take a deep breath before I can get the words out. "I was sent to capture you. We'd gotten our hands on some information that suggested that you could be swayed towards the light. So the Jedi sent me to make that possible. I think maybe it was because they thought _me_ , uh, swayable. So they wanted to challenge me and see if I was up to the task," I explain. His lips part.

   "Information?" he asks. I nod, forcing my expression to stay as gentle as I can.

   "A defector brought back a bunch of files. Yours was one of them. I don't remember its exact wording anymore, but it said something like... they thought you unstable. That you weren't quite receptive enough to their doctrines. So we figured—" I stop talking again when he seems to shrink. He wrestles his hand out of mine and pulls his legs up onto the chair. His gaze turns distant. I crack a half-hearted smile at him.

   "But you were—you _are_ very strong with the force, so they must have considered you worth the trouble anyway. And then the Jedi figured that you could be made to see the light, so to speak. You know, using those same 'instabilities'. But..." I rub my sore nape. "I'd hoped they would be gentler. I—I didn't think they'd take it this far," I mutter.

   "Did the Jedi cause the crash?" he asks. His gaze has turned ice cold and piercing, and there's a cutting edge to his tone. I quickly shake my head.

   "No, no, definitely not. At least not to my knowledge. Originally I thought it might have been a Sith thing, actually," I say with a hollow chuckle. He grips his pant leg tightly, almost curling himself up into a little ball.

   "That—is that why you were nice to me? Why you did... those things? So you could capture me? Change me?" he asks, edge cutting into his own voice now. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and my lower lip quivers momentarily.

   "No! No," I snap, before swallowing hard. "I... In the beginning, yes, I was just trying to be nice to you. I figured it might make it easier to communicate with you. To get us both out of it alive." He buries his face in his knees. "But—but then I got to know you! It stopped being, you know, niceness for the sake of the mission, and I just—I liked you. I—I love you, so I can't imagine treating you any other way now," I explain, fighting back tears. He looks back up at me with dew drops in the corners of his eyes.

   "You love me?" he croaks. Shivers race down my back.

   "What?"

   "You love me. All this, for me. Failed them for me," he rambles with a shrill voice. A strange heat spreads through my body, warming my aching stomach and my cheeks. Love. Lover. Butterflies flutter through my body as I repeat those words in my head. He could be my lover. It lacks the awkwardness that 'friend' incites now. A wide smile spreads across my face, and I chuckle.

   "Yeah, shit. I think might be right." I put my hand on his knee. "You're dragging me to that loathsome dark side, you little minx," I quip, lean in, and place a big kiss on his forehead. He smiles through his tears – a smile that's too wide, revealing too many too large teeth. I smile right back anyway, brushing away his tears with my thumb once again. I let myself plop into the pilot's seat next to him while our fingers intertwine. For a few moments, we simply sit and stare out at the stars and the nebula through the viewport. The whole galaxy lies ahead of us, and yet something about this tin can we're stuck in feels borderline suffocating. Every breath is hard earned, despite the peace the sight ahead instils in me. Despite having him right here next to me.

   "Did you believe in it?" he asks quietly. I don't turn to look at him.

   "In what?"

   "In turning me. Into a Jedi. Like you." I press my lips together and spend a few seconds exhaling.

   "I don't know," I conclude. "But I'm honestly quite glad they didn't get to try." He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. He draws a shaky breath.

   "Not even Sith, now," he sighs. I look at him. This time it's his turn to gaze out at the stars. His expression almost ages him. You'd think he hadn't slept in years judging by the dark circles under his eyes. I have no clue what to tell him anymore.

   "Fuck," he says softly, hints of tears flowing back into his tone.

   "You still have me. We can make it through this," I say.

   "They'll come for me. One way or another. No doubt."

   "Then we'll make it through that, too." I stroke his hand with my thumb. He ruminates on it for two dozen seconds. Then he looks at me with those huge, wet eyes.

   "What the fuck are we going to do?" he says. I can't help but let my face crack into a big smile. I pick up my hair tie and put my fringe up into a tiny ponytail.

   "I have some ideas. Some pretty solid ones at that, actually. I've made some calls—well, one call, to be fair, and I've got something quite good all planned out, if I should say so myself. I'll take us there whenever we're ready," I explain. He furrows his brows at me as if I'd just told him I'd secretly been a Darth this whole time.

   "What? When?" I have to blink a few times and figure out exactly what he's asking.

   "I called while you were sleeping. Which you should _really_ be doing some more of, by the way," I say. His gaze flickers around the room.

   "Yeah," he mutters. I stare at him. I never would've thought that that ugly mug could elicit such a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I clear my throat and open up the holo map, ready to punch in the coordinates.

   "So, I'll cut you a deal. You get some more rest, and I'll get us there in the meantime. Deal?" I say. He blinks once.

   "Okay." I get to put in about half the numbers when he speaks again.

   "Thank you, Anders," he says, drowsiness already prominent in his tone. For once, I don't say anything. I simply lean in and give him a gentle kiss. Underneath my lips, he smiles.


End file.
